the show must go on

The clock in the kitchen ticks
inexorably, until the battery’s flat,
undirected, purposeless in time.

Causality suspends us
at the neck
of our hourglass.

We balance on the tightwire
that stretches from
to dreams,
at the belly
of the catenary,
where the strings of
linear thought are tangled
in a helpless knot.


“I thought my autumn mind
was safe, a silkworm
in a bone cocoon.

“But currawongs and crows
cawingly invite me to cut open
long-lost wounds,
and extrapolate
my shadowed world
to a season yet unnamed,
when the chromosphere
will envelop us, and Guaraci
will be our solar prophet.

“Will I rise and float,
high ashes on the breeze,
or embrace the flames,
become a carbon imprint,
a fossil remnant in the shale,
at last united with my lonely twin?

“Such Gemini are born from ink blots
on the timeline, incomplete divisions
with a lost, forlorn remainder.”

“Would you mind watching the road?”

“I thought we were having breakfast
in the kitchen. Allegorically, at least.”

Guaraci is the sun deity in the mythology of Brazil’s Tupi-Guarani peoples.

Eucalyptus flowers from the visual evo engine and the all-new visual revelator, which shows what is hiding in the shadows. I have chosen this particular artwork because, to me, it illustrates life and death in codependence.

7 thoughts on “the show must go on

    • Thank you, appreciate the feedback. My writing comes from my life: I spend a lot of time in the kitchen too. On the other hand, I’m also a terribly inattentive driver.😸

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