You are a blessing written in cursive unto my subversive stare.
A code without a hope of translation.
You are the words that I wish I could write, and the fears that I will not fight.
Dare to look up from your literary haven – your heady heights of heaven – your misshapen multiverse of mesmerising musings and see! Do you dream? Believe! Do you feel? Be free!
If our world was not so woefully well-kept we would speak!
And the sigh of relief that the carriage would breathe at our meeting would christen the day – the hordes of the mindless, minding their own business would rejoice, their unmuted voices unleashed, abounding, resounding through the metal and tin that chugged and stopped and blew uncontrollably from destination to vacation to home and to back.
Jubilee! as we flee the mundane and the monetary and delve into your world in your hand – to my world in my ears: the tune of a rattlesnake who has learned to fly, gracelessly sliding from here to there.
Take me to Neverland, and may we never land, so saturated with dust and lust and infatuation we could be.
Take me to Wonderland, and wander, grand amongst the mediocre Marvels of my mind.
Meet me on Olympus, you distant traveller you
god of distracting diversion amid the swarm of infected sheep.
For this snake mécanique is bleak – its rattle too fast,
and it’s trumpeting cheerleaders too keen
to announce but the end of spectacular dreams.
So until the next Fate ties our strings,
I will remember you,
Reading my life in the palm of your hand,
alone in your world and
I, unknown to the grandeur and awe
of the face behind the closing door.