Meeting rooms with lackey-jive: you fled them
for spaces brimmed with rubbed-glass soundwaves.
In their dreams, committees unfasten. Delegates weep
with relief as rosined bows shiver
planes of metal. Harmonic rooms disadopt
every agenda item, unsecond every motion.
In the morning, they’re gaveled back into order.
You lift your elsewhere self from bed,
put your ear to the windowpane in a small kitchen.
You love this mundane room. It has space
vibrating everywhere, close. Inside, winter light’s
first pool above the sink. You listen for
trash trucks repaneling the air. Still, those dockets
remain intact. Still, you’ve adjourned yourself,
stepping out through fresh day-jambs.
The stem of a terror-thrill carnival flower
stabs up through a wash of cirrus. We’re high
as the sky! the kids squeal. Swing chairs
at each petal point, stuffed
with amusement cravers. All the people,
see us flung into blue as cables snap
in harmony. Superb joke, right? Must be
virtual. What a bunch of kidders, you guys.
Us? Not really catapulted — no, not sprung wild –
it’s just another internet-of-things hoax
in steel, twisted wire. Look ma, no VR goggles!
You know what I’ve never seen
a fireball’s crown from quite this angle.
A bird’s-eye view though granted birds are few.
This is quite the novelty.
gold azure maroon emerald
The science of it! The art! The impossible elegance.
Just imagine we thought up all this splendor
with our own minds.
starbeam armrays darken
what am I doing
here I what have