I had a conversation with your faces. When the turning of the seasons lose control. Weather maps and tangled kites, lost strings. You try to make the marionette out of broken glass. By the sea, your thoughts are drowned in distant waves. Some wave hello. Some wave goodbye.
The architect of building words asks, are we having this conversation?
You love that I can turn any conversation into a different story. Turn, turn, turn. You have a secret to tell.
Conversations into pumpkins. Carved up perfectly. The perfect day.
I love you. I that you. You that love. You that love the concept of time, greet polite words to say so. You say so.
Like magic. Some complicated waves or a borrowed wand. You can smell the salt in the air. Then suddenly, as if by magic, somewhere there’s a face to learn about.
You move in a circular direction so that we are in a different position in relation to our surroundings, dreams, and magic wands. Start doing something.
Remake the summoning of the architect. Waiting in suspense for the reinvention of the spinning wheel. Time transformed into talking bars of soap. And sure, maybe tradition insists on gold, but people need to keep their hands clean. Free from dirt, marks, or stains, we lift off. Floating together four feet off the ground. Drifting towards the limits of society.
The sounds are right, and the sky is somewhat blue today. As time is above suspicion, we are above conditions, points, experience. Also the ground.
Elan Radousky lives in California. When he isn’t reading, writing, eating, sleeping, or playing the xylophone, he can sometimes be found outside attempting to finally master five club juggling. He doesn’t actually play the xylophone, but he has on occasion dabbled at playing the xaphoon. His favorite color is blue, and he probably doesn’t know any secrets about you.
Eunoia Review 