A swirl of motion disguised as effortless. Notions innumerable, channeled by a single consciousness and dismissed. Pandemonium, orchestrated as if by grand design.
Sirens, horns, voices, shoes, wheels, engines, commerce, commotion, patches of persistent quiet.
A rich harvest of information passing through the needle’s eye of a moment’s fraction. Another wave breaking in the audio-visual department, undertow corroding the bodily equipment.
It all sucks in a sharp breath and repeats itself, falls in on itself, as a wet blanket is pulled from an oven and thrown over the world.
On a nearby oasis amidst mortar, steel, concrete, glass and trash, orange poppies sway their bodies as if they got high at a music festival. As they turn their paper Mache faces toward the sky, the subway rumbles – a whale passing below, carrying minnows who will soon join us up here on the surface to brave the storm.
C.M. Rivers 