Saturday, December 5, 2009

Where to Begin

Two concrete rectangles, steel and wood
Call one bed, the other, living room
A door in or out, a middle partition
White walls breathe and bend
The black and white floors tiles flex to feet,
The large windows let in light
A turquoise chair is married to a red desk
A white telephone has divorced a black stand
A computer is running out to shop
There is nothing but what days bring
They bring little for weeks.
One day, the visions ease
Into a pleasant unawareness and rising
One sage morning sitting with tea
Time unravels your head like a ball of twine:
A black tile lifts from the floor
Floats slowly round the room and another
A white one, begins to ascend, joining
Yet another and another, black and white tiles
Moving 'round to a secret order, a song

Fascinating, fantastic, hypnotic

A white tile holds an eye socket and one eye
Rolls out your head to fill it
A black tile has a nose pulsing and you note
One missing from your face
Ears are wings flapping in another
Fingers detached from hands
Slither into black and white,
Your body like always but lighter
Limb by limb, organ by organ
Bone upon bone coming apart without pain
The entire network of nerve, flesh, feces,
Fingernail, brain, heart, genitals
Circles the room, turning in slow motion
A wind-chime of body parts
United yet distinctly unique and alone—and then
A window to the world opens
Everything sucked out into the air, into sky, vanishes.
There is no one now where the lights burn
And the air-conditioning runs day and night, no one
To say where to look; nor where to even begin

Rayn Roberts 09