it flickers like 16mm film.
in cavernous silence,
dappled moonbeams ricochet through space.
the cacophony of a thousand velveteen collisions.
a solid wall of twilight fog
they can be nothing other than a singularity or
a speeding needle once fired from that infinite gilded surface,
and deflected by a pocked silver shield.
theirs is a quest to adorn my patchwork soul.
imperceptible holes that will later fray
like the shiny plastic
pretensions of small talk when silence would suffice.
like the frequent eye flittings, up and back so quickly.
And then down, down, down -
in that spike of contact
and dread for the moment it ends,
left alone in a room.
making conversation with your own interpretations.
ambiguous and uncertain,
but perhaps also intuitive … and nosy -
fighting gravity like water flows up though plants.
subverting all attempts at control.
It is light leaking, spilling, and then pouring
a hot tungsten filament dissipating the indefinite midnight tendrils of subconscious
only to vanish.
but not left empty,
because the chamber expands still.
it is an elastic lung oxygenated with warm breath,
a mental chamber lethargically pulsating with red-orange heat
the carbon lattice hums with light,
a gentle, and perfectly intricate ember
the only one of its kind.