Streaming lights flow out from the projection booth (dust motes notwithstanding), becoming universal dreams from the unconscious uncoiled collective multiple us, slouched low in the theatre seats. Black and white nighttime scenes populate the big screen. A fast dark four-door sedan turns and twists up the winding hillside roadway. Magnified life informs us of possibilities, as light waves defy darkness above the slouched and unsteady, in the wounded movie house, filled with open-eyed flesh clutching selves. There’s a lost and long-haired woman standing by the side of the road, the shoulder of her garment torn and frayed. She’s staring into oncoming car headlights. Wondering wordlessly. Imagining intently. Tall trees, in shadowy nighttime’s numinous underworld. How’d I wind up here, am I really this kind of dame? Headlights capture her face and tell the tale for expanding eternity. Two lights speeding beside the roadway, circular moving reminders how galaxies do burst in brains in good ways, sometimes, like stars of yesterday languidly smoking cigarettes in movies where everyone smoked. Lights do their luminous business and move on, being dreamy symbols set in plentiful patterns, placidly meandering snowflakes of eternity. In the communal darkness, lives sway and stay and even say what can never be said, during the light of day.
2021
