places most odd

cavalcades, myriads, calliope at the big top

weaving words, wisdom's breath exhaled falteringly

there's a moment when dialog lapses

verbally & conceptually

and one is simply aware

immersed in the everything

almost catatonic

every cell is part and intermingled with

all the fibers of the whole of it all

this material land.

I am of the cars passing by

of the cement beneath my feet.

Laughter, chatter about

is wringing in my own head.


I am of the bricks of this building

I slide into their joints,

exploring every air pocket

and I am brought back to this consciousness

on this earthly plane

by this repetitive voice,

chipper and bright

so near to me and I am in this plastic chair again

and always us at this iron table,

my iced red eye neglected rests upon,

and this voice repeating

mama

looky, look mama it's an old fashioned bike,

timothy's riding an old fashioned bike!

who?

oh.

and so it is

I am awake of sorts

watching he and she

watching them ride on by

I am here and yet still there

I can still feel in my shoulders the vibrations

the crisp solid clench upon my muscles

of squishing and crunching myself amid the bricks of this epic café

sometimes I like to hide in places most odd.


© 10 April 2005,4: 15pm, Epic Cafe, Tucson, AZ
published in Downtown Tucsonan May of 2005 issue