Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2005-06-01 21:09:00

Gallery III - MoMA
For Kate

It is like sitting behind
a hundred pairs of eyes,
peering through stolen prisms
at little snatches of nothing

things you'll never know the
why of

even if you study all your life,
you'll never know the broken brushes,
the habits and the conversations
that bled

colour by mismatched colour
onto these hanging pupils ,
stained them,
made them wild.

And sometimes it feels like they
stare back at you,
or rather that their heads
are full of your watching

and you are aware of
those who mumble and hum
next to you,
how many borrowed sights lie within each,
and your head spins like the
cheap neon wheel they pinned to
a black wall as some big symbol.

But there's somewhere, I know
somewhere you've hidden and locked
in your lungs or your kidney,
where you bypass daily
all these dullard dreamings;
the frowns, the commentaries,
the endless footsteps and awards;
you leave them aside
and touch some deeper
thing than I could ever reach.