BLUE FREEWRITE

inside the eye                                                                        

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