On fantasy meadow

Written by: Luminita Stoica

Frames pass through dirty, dusty windows, 
We balance left to right, up and down, 
Green’s everywhere, in swamps and meadows;
I watch, contemplate and sit alone. 

V-shaped flocks of birds sway through the air, 
One’s mind can taste the shift of seasons, 
Memory tubes are twisted and bare; 
I suddenly see perfect cheekbones. 

The sun is a fly in Klein’s bottle, 
Though you need not rays to keep a smile – 
Consumerism leaves a puddle – 
I’m pushing pink carts on pleasure’s isle. 

What if this imploded in a glimpse, 
And fantasies mixed and came to play? 
All dreams and fears bring a huge eclipse – 
Stumbling imagery pushed on a tray.