Imagine a train station-

Bustling with people-

Crammed with bodies and breath,

Eyes looking towards the ground-

Avoiding those whom are pressed against them in every direction,

And no space for thought or speech.

 

No.

 

Imagine an open field,

A child’s game of tag-

Tiny feet beating against the dirt,

New and old and ancient and timeless all at once,

To the thump of drums.

Or is it a heartbeat?

 

No.

 

Instead imagine a Great Cog-

Large and turning and alive with inanimate anger-

Twirling smaller versions of itself

Until all of them are moving together in a slow speed that,

Somehow,

 Is more permanent than the world it relies on to home it-

More lasting then itself.

 

But that,

Too,

Is incorrect.

 

What about tall grasses

And squeaky leather work boots that don’t fit right

And tall sky scrapers

And the American Dream?

…If that is a real thing.

 

What about the cross

That hangs in every preacher’s home

And on every person’s neck,

Figuratively or not,

Right-side up or upside-down?

 

And what about all the different faces,

Taken apart and separated by color

Or class

Or talent,

Only to end up in the same dark place in the end?

For death is the great equalizer.

 

But,

Again,

The answer is no.

 

Though these images,

Pounding and soft,

Large and small but equal in might,

Do present themselves to me,

And the world,

In equal measure

(only to be perceived as unequal distractions

From each people’s

All-encompassing

Problem),

It is impossible to describe

With great reassurance

That this is, without doubt,

The correct image.

 

I guess you all will just have to

Trust me.