#454 - painting with water till the page has gone

 

27.iii.21

454

2.86

painting with water till the page is gone

 

I worry my friend may vanish

into a little box of bright lights, excitements

place of fun puzzles, strong convictions

…not a place at all

but she’s there

she’s making it up

at a desk with the rest

 

a rumoured mill, kind of…

glows with participation

mind turns through the fingers key by key

some say voice is possible, pictures

some say the bubble blows

 

a chase through the book led

over the hills

but there’s no weather in there

 

moments are you could make out a face

in all dimensions, far as the bezel

this expresses the screen plane –

itself a sky in the box

 

nor fresh air

what plans we must make for this unworlding!

the music! the drama!

 

it’s everything up until now in there

and every day it takes up less space

every day we’re smaller

 

all are vanishing there these days

are there days anymore?

are there nights?

 

guess it’s a kind of thought ark

what animals are left slink in embarrassed

we could fire them out as information

beyond the planets named

we can know so much about!

 

the whole of everything is or could

seems to be vanishing in – it’s

writing smaller than anyone sees

 

still the wheel spins

all heavens folded

 

and sometimes I worry she’ll find me, my friend

feet up, slippers, virtual pipe on a smoking planet

… a snifter

well in leafing through … pages and pages

walk like a fly on the ceiling of this

 

comfortable cog

where it’s always my turn

up, down, loaded sideways too

 

and when it’s bung – then what?

but bid a fond adieu