Wednesday, February 4, 2004

AT THAT TIME BETWEEN DAY AND NIGHT



At that time between day and night
when everything is crepscular in notion,
and the Cole Porter violin cresendo swells,
opens the doors between worlds,
is where the limnal and the real world collide,
where we dream, where we drift,
where you’re not sure where you’re going
or where you’ve been,
living both lives simultaneously.
Meanwhile a petty dictator 
gets in the way of truth.

2/4/04
rev 2/4/06


inside the eye of night 
a primeval ligature of well-muscled sky 
against the unseen void
enter a smoky tunnel
and when you get to the root of it,
how we associate life, 
and pooled water with all that blue.

all root and nerve,
the crack between worlds
where rogue planets coalesce,
burn an afterimage on the retina
leaving the optic nerve hungry 
for more mirror images.
no to mention the blind spot
or the mind playing tricks.

tracings of veins, 
shadows against the back wall of the eye
dendritic highways
ghost image and counter image
that feeling of not alone
as if someone else in an empty room
the almost as if seen
what constitutes reality
scripted or unscripted?
foreshadow and aftershadow
rods and cones
intimate not greens and not reds

to which point do the bird’s thoughts retract?

descending into a smoky tunnel
background noise bricking up a pristine silence

At that time between day and night 
when everything is crepscular in notion, 
and the Cole Porter violin cresendo swells,
opens the doors between worlds, 
is where the limnal and the real world collide, 
where we dream, where we drift, 
where you’re not sure where you’re going 
or where you’ve been, 
living both lives simultaneously.
Meanwhile, a petty dictator gets in the way of truth.

2/2004

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