What are you doing with this body
The soul asked the mind
To and from bounced as echoes
Evade their sources
Proof
You want to know
Who
You are
Now, is past
Then, next I plan
On finding
A voice
hat Does
instead of making sound waves
with air
Going to and from
Self and I
just to know
Nothing
Is true
Is false
looking
where questions
make marks
like clouds,
See
the blue.
Artwork by Konrad Krzyżanowski, 'Clouds' c. 1906, in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
When it is said
Something told me
Something made me
I sensed something-
where is the body
of the thing
that sometimes
does not resemble
Us
Like things
that feel or don't feel
Right?
Aren't we feeling
Some
Thing...
Artwork by Robert Lewis Reid, 'The Mirror' c. 1910 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
.jpg)
We called it 'The Monsters House'
First
Because it had no windows and was made of concrete
It had a lighthouse tower
Only a tiara on tiny red lights to warn planes
In fog and like May
Was always in thick blankets
Of grey days stacked
On holidays most years
There was some decor
As if it could fit in
With the community
It stood on the Pacific Coast
Line and you could draw a line
Home from any spot
Within range
Like Babel
It spoke of neither here
Nor there
A power plant
It became powerless,
Nothing like plants
Holding sun
I tossed out my anchor
With the security of pillars
Standing strong
Eternal and moral
You can guess
How it crumbled
Like sand
Decommissioned, dethroned
And deleted
From the horizon
As the world spun
On and on
I stood
Still
Ashes go nowhere
Nobody will remember
A solid building
Of imagination.
Image: Self, taken in front of Monster's House (Cbad-Tamarack) March 2020 (D.O.D.-date of destruction)
On still days with drooping flags and contented leaves Sounds somehow soaked in between the crevices of broad daylight I sit as still as my ...
