Posted on December 10, 2009 - by Rasham
MIDNIGHT DEPARTURE
‘I am in love!’ she proclaims quietly to herself: she is wrapped in a satin cloth of a curious shade plum, waiting for him to return from his midnight departure. There is no sound other than the breath she draws from the space beneath the sheets, each dose an ecstatic ode to the fermenting sensations of freedom she is beginning to realize. She opens her eyes to a field of geometric vision, then closes them to see a pyrotechnic display of flat colors which are guarding some elusive force in the background of her mental perceptions. ‘Here it comes’, she thinks; ‘another black spot, another chance to visit my mind …’
She sees him, he is holding a radio as if to offer its voice to the crowd of uninterested travelers, but the only sound it makes is a faint constant, the static bass drum for his whispered monologue: ‘can anybody hear me? Can anybody hear me? Can anybody hear me?’
She looks around the carcass of this vessel: except for a few lazy eyeball rolls the middle car passengers aren’t responding to the pirate performer, none except for one lonely creature in a seeming embrace with her distorted reflection which swims on the surface of the plexiglass window. She is slumped while she sits, then suddenly tall when she stands, her motions make her as present as a stake driving the conquest of a warrior’s clan.
She has black belts of tears tracing rows down her face and she is staring into the soul of the freelance lyric slinger. From a distance the mind dreamer is watching and yet in this triangular embrace the three awakened await, and then the silent window watcher speaks:
“We have eyes for ears we trade truth for lies
The clouds are the hearts of gods that bleed rain as they die.
No one can hear you because no one is awake
A massive mental strike, a universal mistake.”
‘There goes my hero’, confesses the mind dreamer to the committee in her head , to which her head replies, ‘have you no better figure in mind to worship than the girl who wears holes in her jeans and stripes on the smile of her poetic mouth kiss?’
She sighs beneath the galaxy of linen spots and rescinds into her mindful sanitarium, becoming like a repulsive magnet to all possibilities of mortal connection, in a seeming embrace with her distorted reflection which swims on the surface of the purple satin sheets.