He painted on truck canvas
The soot and wear and tear evident
He dreamed colors onto it
The dust and oil stains embedded
Like life and its traumas
reoccuring nightmares
Desires in a glass bowls
Wild oversweet fruit
euphoric visions
Imagine how far they'd gone
the distances they were carried
Married to the frame
flapping in the wind
between cities
absorbing the rains and sun
Then absorbing all of the keen craftings of art
from one man's mind and heart
He sat on the sofa.
his father came in and placed a wrapped gift into his hands.
He unwrapped it carefully.
The mother, father and brother's attention stayed on him.
As his expression changed from anticipation to glee.
Feelings overwhelmed the child
An intensity almost uncontainable.
His legs kick up and he jumps off the sofa.
To celebrate in his own rendition of free dancing.
His laughter rising and falling with unrestrained joy.
Awkward yet magic his boots beat the floor.
As he holds the gift up,
as if he recieved the whole universe,
as if some miracle had taken place.
He looks back toward his parents and grins.
The children rehearse for their dance
part of them believes that it will be exciting and rewarding
The other part of themselves dread the stage and the light
Feeling the obligation of their dance teacher and parents
Through the corridors around the atrium
Last minute visits to the bathroom
Checking with each other
Checking with themselves
One follows another into the great hall
ignoring their own shivers and timidness
Finding their spot to stand and wait for the music
Ignoring the eyes from the audience at all costs
The chocolate chip goes soft
getting turned on instead of off
There's heat coming from somewhere
Exchange aspirations and fears
Don't let shame make you a lier
Share dreams and nightmares
Fantasies and unmet desires
There's heat coming from somewhere
The cookie itself absorbs the heat the oven lit
It's softness surrounds the pieces of chocolate
Little dark sweet blobs that are turning liquid
The lips get close the mouth mode enveloping
The teeth above and below gates opening
Is this what comfort is a thought shouts randomly
Is this what sensual teasing gets us another rambles
Is the cookie a metaphor for something one craves
The dough more akin to the mundane
The chips a climax filled and drained
I prefer it when you ignore me
You see me out of the corner of your eye
Don't recognize me
I have no place in your real life
Why allocate me to your purgatory
Let me go ahead and do what I must
I can also play this game
I have become much better at ignoring my admiration for you
I used to attempt conversation
Some valuable exchange
beyond the odd event when eyes awkwardly meet
And we explain it all away in our heads
So allocate me to your oblivion
I come from islands where people live in extreme denial
They would rather fall on swords than admit feelings
I love you, wonder of your smoothness, want to know you
But will rid myself of all limerence
I'd prefer you ignore me
give me less than the corner of your eye
Pretend you don't recognize me
Offend my heart so, because I feel and I love
I'll get over it like I have a hundred times before
You'll never get to feel or experience what I had in store for you
The things so many undervalued, rejecting without knowing before.
What might have a bright beginning will have it's abrupt end
You can go back to lip-syncing the lyrics to a life quite pretend
The man in his fifties slightly overweight
Had mastered the art of sarcasm
he worked at the turnstyle
selling t shirts and mugs
His desire was to stay in the mind of those who passed by
So he would weight his comments
Partially from his observations of the person
Partially from his own erroneous beliefs about life
with each creak of the turnstyle another member would exit
or enter
And there he would go running his mouth
Trying to elicit an emotional response
But noone bought the mug
Noone bought the tshirt
And most would nod dismissingly
Robbing him of his delight
For when the face of the person turned
With a hint of worry or shame
The slightly overweight fifty year old
Would beam as if he had acquired the world over
Skating down the corridor
Legs buck wildly to propel
Over soft carpet
the reduction of speed
Such a busy corridor
Call it life
Some lost
Just walking in circles
others walking in a given direction
With a focal point
A sense of anticipation on their face
Some whose footsteps are muffled by carpet
others whose footsteps tap loudly
windows on one side
Showing the things people want on the other side
But may not actually have
Life's corridor seems random
Some closer to the end
Others wander near the beginning
Yet their evolution seems to have nothing to do with their place
