Post by AquarianM on Nov 11, 2012 22:54:06 GMT -5
Walking down the street amidst a mostly stone-faced people,
A warm Autumn day bares a rare smile and the last remnants of Fall color.
Arriving early, I make up a sign and stand on the front steps,
Soaking up morning sunshine and the sounds of the city,
Watching people and birds flock and weave.
We greet, meet, mill, and disperse,
Clocks and agreements braced for the pull of ancient art.
Somewhere in a buried corner of the basement I find it;
The last payphone on the planet,
Maybe it waits for Christmas,
Or possibly the end of the Maya calendar -
To vanish into the past.
I make a bee-line to the paperweight collection,
That beautiful room of glass baubles Truman Capote called "dream fragments."
Somewhere in the midst of the meditation of snapping photos of shiny flirtations with alternate reality,
I realize...
The watch is clock-ticking,
And I haven't been here in eight years.
I walk as the fly buzzes,
Zig-zag,
Up-down,
In case my Muse needs more imagery to eat.
Lunch sounds great!
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/10/2012