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Cyclorama Sky I, II
I. Raising Drapes
Before me, a silk-draped telephone
booth grows wheels and sets itself
free while its shadow mesmerizes
me like a string pulled underneath
a kitten's whiskers. I sling forward.
Arm-distance away, its movement
halts. Its curtain furls, exposing
cage prongs. Inside, a nymph waves
her waist like a serpent. Unspecified
origins execute a frolicsome allegro.
She points at the latch. Restlessly,
I fiddle until the cage door flings
open. Suddenly, her claws clench
onto my collar, whip-lashing me into
her domain. The air grows silent.
The mistress collapses into a fetal
position. Beyond this enclosure,
a battalion of silk-decorated cages
emerge. It must be rush hour.
II. Rehearsal
Encaged, a woman points her finger
at an unspecified object and laughs.
Like a mechanical doll, she rotates
her head at two points, (my pupils/
the object) and soon after, crinkles
her brow as if alluding a particular
action. Reluctantly, I finger-extend
at the object, creeping my lips ajar.
Suddenly, her head tilts back, jaw
pointing skyward. Laughter mixes
with a muffled gargle, for within her
throat emerges a metallic rod. Like
a sword-swallower, she pulls it out,
and hand-gestures it to be mine.
The saliva-coated gift flies my way,
situating itself, and following me
like an eye floater. Thenceforward,
numerous gestures are swallowed
spoonfully, until the finale of cage-
parts disgorges from the last throat.
The cage-drape encloses darkness
at me, but we dwell in the spotlight.
