July Matinee

Tuck into the public private seclusion. My aversion to inclusion includes a stub, a tub, a carelessly careful curation, a velvet rope, a hint of hope, a folding chair, softened and stickied by foam and frothing soda spills. A not soundless though talkless time. My not soundless though talkless time. My time oh my oh mine. A excusal from excess tides: the comings-and-goings of give-and-takes that never slakes my hermit needs. Let me receive, no give-backs, Just sit and accept. You do the warp and woof You spin the yarn and weave the world. Carpet halls and carpeted walls lead me to a time lapse apse a time and space machine Take me anywhere but leave me here. The lights come up- Why do they come up, if the rays pierce unwelcomingly this Dark...oh this dark...a respite of shadow, a veil of sightless cool, a shared shadow Where was I? Oh, yes...the dark I am drawn to her like a moth to the... Never mind. Ok, where was I? Distracted from my vocation distraction. Ah yes. The lightrays roll up, fall short of falling. Soon enough. Not soon enough and yet but although they do...soon enough that is. Fail to find me, dim, and disappear into the recesses of the ceaseless and recessless plain plane of acoustical tile. I exhale, return this borrowed breath. Sink into my seat. Sync into my mind. I settle. The next breath borrowed won't long be mine. It's movie time! The projector clickets and clackets. The reel spins its racket on wobbly sprocket while spinning its tales. The light is colored, uneven: A rainbow, trapped in a kaleidoscope, on a merry-go-round-and-round-and-round. Cinematic komorebi; cellulose is cellulose. (or close, I guess.) It's unsteadily carrying sounds on its un-there shoulders, throwing both at a screen I cannot see. I look square at it. For hours. Unobstructed, I stare. And fail to see a screen. Replaced as it is, there in the dark, here in the dark, by bouncebacking Weightless and waitless. Instant hinting, glinting. The projecter pitches sound and fury In a flickering circus of activity It's throwing nothings in a palette parade, a whatever-the-opposite-of-a-library-is of Sounds...music, words, foley frenzy Launched unemotionally and yet maddeningly at A silent invisible visible screen The thrum and flicker, the Summer light. The rising heat, humidity, career, bills. Pick-up-milk. Forgot. The Candy Unwrapper, two rows down. My sore rib. All gone. A story unfolds... A story of a girl... I am lost... All is lost. Only a story... Only a girl. Only This Girl.