Wonderworld
"Wonderworld"
Lucy's face is a gridwork of skyscrapers
Covalent girders and electron bolts
More space than substance, more void than form
And yet I see her composure.
Her face is a snide remark crouching in the grass.
Sarah's voice is a wavelength of dances
Of alveolar ridges and dental fricatives
That tap and bow to the unheard rhythms
Of mental grammars and Jungian archetypes
That become a nervous symphony stalling in air.
John's blue jeans and black mop hair
The blue metal of Alyssa's eyebrow ring
Dave's self-conscious sportcoat and Joey Ramone looks-
An infinite network of roads converging
To create the here, the now, the room, the chair.
There is no color, and there is no form;
There is no creation or destruction.
The latticework of bricks that line this building
have always been around, will never be around;
They are built from stardust and mud.
There are questions one might ask,
Questions of form, and matter, and shape;
Questions that roll and dance on the tongue.
What need have we for fantasies and complaints
When all around us lie infinite complexities?
Is there anything we will ever truly know?
Would we want to, if we could?
No; understanding is no substitute for awe
At the sacred and profane admixture of life
in this world that pirouettes around us in wonder.
-3/21/2007
Lucy's face is a gridwork of skyscrapers
Covalent girders and electron bolts
More space than substance, more void than form
And yet I see her composure.
Her face is a snide remark crouching in the grass.
Sarah's voice is a wavelength of dances
Of alveolar ridges and dental fricatives
That tap and bow to the unheard rhythms
Of mental grammars and Jungian archetypes
That become a nervous symphony stalling in air.
John's blue jeans and black mop hair
The blue metal of Alyssa's eyebrow ring
Dave's self-conscious sportcoat and Joey Ramone looks-
An infinite network of roads converging
To create the here, the now, the room, the chair.
There is no color, and there is no form;
There is no creation or destruction.
The latticework of bricks that line this building
have always been around, will never be around;
They are built from stardust and mud.
There are questions one might ask,
Questions of form, and matter, and shape;
Questions that roll and dance on the tongue.
What need have we for fantasies and complaints
When all around us lie infinite complexities?
Is there anything we will ever truly know?
Would we want to, if we could?
No; understanding is no substitute for awe
At the sacred and profane admixture of life
in this world that pirouettes around us in wonder.
-3/21/2007