In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

Camping Inside Out

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The world as colors and shapes, moving forms

a distance, silent mouths forming wordlessness

a seat at the window safely piggy backs society

the vitrine protection dividing in from out unreal

keeping clicks where they belong, in finger flight

and pad ticks, far away from the tongue stealers 

those who would en-web you in their sale spells.
 

Where I finger thrum on wood thin counter tops,

jittering quick shot the espresso electrical shorts

and spy on the unconscious pacing and dodging

the bots with electronic ears in elephantine slog

they drift and separate, crawl inside their spaces

cocooned til the spring of their dawning moment

the one where memory reaches the track’s end.
 

Those mouth dropping shock seconds of where-?

When did the wall of puzzle pieces appear and

how long ago did the trash can cut music notes

while the airbus busied itself as a kids’ toy store?

The pajama’d trees passed me by while I sped

past birch beads encircling a neck slip into brew

dipped in twenty true coffee grains indissoluble.
 

No matter for the mindless masses none notice

but for their double exposure, shadows on glass

juxtaposed on a manicured verdure hip and free.

Brown on black, olive on pale, face to facing skin

empty gestures mock and mime the cruel illusion,

one that paints them imperfectly distinctive matter.

This art breathes no reason splayed and kneeling. 

  

   

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