blank and tank

12-2-10

The White album. Like these scathed boots oh so tight. Today.
Like the blank canvas called
our sky-
scuffed only by the film on the glass.
I am in the tank.
We all are-
swimming.
Sea. Monkeys.
Urchins.
Searching for a wave. A current. Ripples on barriers.
Again.
All men-minus two. With intent six eyes play and I day. Dream.
With the smear of speed like the swipe of a thumb upon wet paint.

We are nothing more than a moment and this, not even a second
thought.