from The Book of Space
Listen. Cars zim-zoom through the artery of non-mind. Try to wake up. To what? To the fourth dimension of over-thinking.
On this street we are backdrop to landmarks. What else is there to do but get past highways splitting and twining, the bridge leaping up, the cupcake shop, factories turned into condos. Red sandals I thought necessary to my restoration.
A sublime uselessness, the empty spaces may be deciding as they watch us drift. On this street people walk slow as if they are walking toward their troubles.
When no one is around I say hello to Space. I decide it is the tarmac. Or a flashing plug-in skyline. Or the Great Nebulous Anxiety hovering over my limits.
I don’t know you, I say to the words chasing its morphing forms. But it is not useless to compose fables. I hold tight to my fear of the possible. The empty unit beside this one. The opening out of the corridor.
Directed by Matthew Thompson.
This poem first appeared in the chapbook The Book of Space, published by Tammy Press in 2021.