Atmosphere (with a teenager)

The light from her eyes had grown in darkness.

Her pupils emulating black holes...

I wanted to lighten her

dark mood,

so I showed her a picture from far away,

the moon-detailed.

Why is it so dark out there? She sees Nothing.

Why is space so dark? She gazed at the photo

a moment more.

Reflecting a moment-

Dark Matter, I retorted.

As opposed to Light Matter?

Yes, but not light enough

to see the difference,

I replied.

But this space in here is light.

You're right. Energy.

Energy? All of it, I nodded, Electricity.

She then sighed laboriously,

I heard the dark part is expanding?

Likely. Nobody hears it

happen. No body looks.

I can feel it, I think.

It can come in waves-

like gravity. That's heavy, she snorted sarcastically.

Actually, it is weak,

I added for weight.

Mind over matter,

she quipped back.

If you don't mind-

it doesn't matter,

I dismissed.

I guess I should lighten up, let it float,

she finally smiled

and lit up the room, once again, happily

ever after and growing.

Image of painting by José Ferraz de Almeida Júnior [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A poet in prose

"Always be a poet, even in prose." 

-Charles Baudelaire

Succinct                                   Finger words attempt to grasp the shape

                                                or solidify some things that matters

                                                enough to cast shadows.

Withheld itself                        Where we have both eyes

                                                and this simultaneous process of thingness,

                                                the space it takes when ones eyes are closed

                                                or looking too long at any thing,

                                                turns to creamains, a small pile, still smolders.

In rote repose                           Mind over matter is when matter takes hold

                                                of our mind and an argument ensues,

                                                this circular discourse becomes a deep rut,

                                                here we go again, making a smile with left overs.

Umbra                                     The darkest parts, those chunky photons assembled

                                                from all particulars and are open to letting the light

                                                expending the conservation in equal distribution

                                                of temperature into background

Where loss of certainty           as love and mild.

Makes one move around         Musical chairs taught us how to listen

                                                while in a hurry to save ourselves and

                                                change our point of view without preference

                                                for any place other than staying in the game.

Look                                        Listen.

Within                                      Many layers of glass make mirrors. 

Painting By Paul Fischer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Chit for chat

Who are you talking to? or what are you talking about?

Nobody. Everything.

If 'Nobody', then aren't you communicating to no one about Nothing? 

Why waste your precious time? 

It occupies-my (precious) mind-some-times.

Who has Time for all that? reading? writing? listening? to 'Nobody'...

What else is time for?

Work. Some Thing. 

So, writing, and reading and listening-these are all                leisurely-un-activities

-easy would you say? not Work.

Yes. Of course. Everyone knows this. No.

How does Everyone know? Did somebody tell you this?

No, Nobody. I just heard it somewhere. Everything productive is work. Work is a productive thing.

That works...for some...productions or some things. I read that nobody listens anymore,

you have proven everybody wrong. Unless I am wrong.

You are right. 

Painting by Károly Ferenczy, Engaged in a conversation (1912) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.