Drowning in Air

•÷•÷•

__________________________

Drowning in Air

But still inside … a whisper to a riot” – Walk, the Foo Fighters

Would I had a machine of time manipulation,

primed with a human foot-shaped accelerator;

the type sold at Pilot on the Interstate Highway.

 

Yes, one can be had for about $8.95 USD.

Mine would do zero to 186001 m/s like a whisper to a riot.

I’d customize it with laser stabilization and phase inducers,

so all goes, so all goes, so all goes pretty well.

 

Winona, I’d be your affectionate competition

chasing life-sized stars from Santa Rosa to LA;

pulled in the wake of over-eager super parents,

who were responsive to budding fame potential.

 

Because that’s how fame always starts, right?

A useless particle of dust, a lone amino acid,

an awkward child reading Shakespeare on the playground

the whispers.

 

A shuttlecock cresting the crooked net,

needs a counter blow for its return trip.

It stays in the air and utilizes its potential

only with the participation of active fellows

waving practical rackets

the agitators.

 

What comes after the buttons depress and the levers slide

is hard to tell – a tunnel of lights, a twisting spiral?

A suddenly changed background is more likely.

Thirteen years gone forever in a blink, and then

it’s all fleeting maybes and blunted blame.

Hindsight is Time’s biggest fuck you to all its travelers

the riot.

 

So twirl the stratigraphical colors, pulse the geometric shapes,

all up, in and around this machine with airy rippler manipulators.

It’s VHS on rewind in a basement editing suite, timecode laid black.

 

And POP – Battledore is engaged.

 

Name a century; name a civilization.

The scene’s different, characters blinking at new old trees.

Fresh grass tickling their bare feet; with breeze, their bare skin

as a shuttlecock appears over the horizontal net. Again.

 

A finger depresses the universal play button,

all rackets waving frantically enthusiastic,

and the shuttlecock responds in time.

 

6.4349598e+15

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