Author Information
Trees Swaying and Swishing Like Plastic Glasses
Folder:
Unpublished pieces
Living tissue undulating like burning flags from a winter sky.
Trees swaying and swishing like plastic glasses melting
in a summer sky.
You and I are drinking lemonaide out of chilled glasses;
drops of moisture angling insistently down our arms.
We are as magic as we care to be, as fragile as
the twisting sandstorms that plague
the ever-present desert scene
of the twilight glows of other signs.
I wonder aloud if all our images will fall
away as we grow and confront the
silver rings we have caused to
blend with our filth.
You comment on the typical day,
the never changing atmosphere
from which you feel you need
to dwell.
What is left for us?
We have already begun to feel
with different cell phones
rushed like glue upon our ears.
We know the same stories, so we find
ourselves sharing in the delusions
we once believed.
The flicking of the light switch only
gives us the option of on or off.
So with this awareness we perceive
only the dimness of the hourly world
we have come to accept as important.
Nothing is really important, I realize.
Everything is shambled methods used
to help in my survival.
Have I used you?
Have you used me?
My suspicion would be that all
the one way only signs
are never enough to stop
the dying of our pleasure.
