past plantation roses. climbing petal steps. color escalated into dismal clouds, tandemless circling below. through a window, which is itself a mask, i see him marching to the door and wonder if he dons his owner's mask as he exits or does he wait until he arrives at the other door, the work door? in other words, which door cues the mask? or does he even take it off at all and does he ever fall asleep and drift into dream still wearing his mask and does the mask flavor those dreams with scenes of counting money, repairing nearly antique appliances & the activation partially engaged & possibly drugged employees? this room's warmth hugs with its whole body, purrs like an enormous electric kitten dozing above your head. outside, the grumpy grandpa sky growls with rare thunder. free knowledge for the asking he spits contemptuously from behind his mask. fat drops splotch the sidewalk's canvas as an elderly asian man wearing black sweatpants pulled up to his tshirted nipples continues to trace his dash drawn circles, each gentle step planting a transparent stroke, repeated as if he could pace that zero into existence like a ghost pulled back into form from abstraction's bodiless abyss. fevered beliefs hunt for the faintest glow. stand still long enough and you become a home for everything you never expect. held gaze holds. looking a trickier consent, both to receive & to give, unavailable except through joyful presence. i stand under my weakness for earth mamas but aren't there star mamas too & atmospheric mamas & deep ocean mamas & molten lava mamas & negation mamas, voidful & twirling zeros around the very idea of hips? tell me, how candlelit could we be?
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