Big white room, Hung with frames.
Cell windows looking out on a frozen world,
The poor souls who pick a pose
Create a good impression.
The real things are outside the frame
On the otherside of the wall.
Trying to capture the ephemeral merely achieves it.
Big white room. Full of people.
Holding wine glasses and conversation
Laughing like the slide of gravel
Down the face of a shovel.
Finding only mirrors in the frames.
Unsatisfied and unaware that
They are what it’s all about.
The joining of the dots
The coloring in, inside the line,
Finds you gasping breathless in
The panic attack of a reciprocating tomorrow.
Skullthorpe's Blog 