mass is, in what appears to be,
a stoic standstill monologue to us.
for us humans,
experience is a limited squint
of a spectral view.
we, as participatory audience,
are grandly skilled at ignoring all that soliloquy.
but we have become
the mirror to the mirror of ourselves,
that’s how deeply species self-involved we are.
we live on with and in the stage of this mass
where the stage seems to have no end.
and the audience of nature, as the planet,
is passive participatory,
primarily used as ongoing props.
everyone has lines
they unwittingly say,
or not!
everyone seems to be looking
for the red light, camera on,
as if there is such a thing as audience appeal.
any recognition is warm milk on a cold day,
where dreams are presented from the purring kind.
and the mother of that whimsical mind
eventually abandons all those dreamers
that live within.
so they, the dream-seekers within,
forage and search for nurturance
secretly, on their own,
between the practicals and the pragmatics of living
where audience represents the bowl to them.
hopefully filled with some version
of that warm listeners’ milk,
I spoke about earlier.
that is why dreams exposed
feature a fresh face
coming towards.
it’s kind of a human thing
yet nature seems unimpressed . . .
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