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On Vacation

Monday, 19. September 2011 18:45

the enso

Black iron tables and chairs, shaded with umbrellas, line Burro Alley in Santa Fe

"Leisure Time" by marlowe

the poem

The umbrellas spring
up like mushrooms
in exotic colors yet to be
cataloged and assessed,
spring from the stained cement
floor, from the patio
(an ancillary claim like any other
Western territory), from the cobblestones
originally laid by Conquistadores
who had other worries
besides a pleasant breakfast. These
umbrellas shelter us
from the blossoming heat of the sun, keep
us unaware of the reality
manifesting around us as we cut
into our French toast, dabble
in the decadence of maple syrup. No,
these perfectly cubed watermelon squares
do not reveal what is
yet to come, only
what is now, the round porcelain world
under our noses. We ignore
the commemorative bronze burro standing
guard, the festive murals retelling
which transfers of power were required
to get us here. In a while, we will
move on, the passage of time complete,
the sun unexpectedly bright,
our previous conquests forgotten,
our worries muffled by the thick adobe
walls that line these alleyways. We
will conveniently forget the muddle
of history, the consequences
lost in the patterns,
the pueblo pottery and the turquoise
squash blossom necklace. No, none of this matters
now as you stride across the street, the tolling
bells of St. Francis Cathedral Basilica
segmenting your leisure into predictable
increments, and step
into the next shop, where
your future awaits.

Category:Ephemeral, Human | Comments Off | Autor:

The Void

Monday, 31. January 2011 20:30

the enso

A dog sleeping on the sofa, snuggled between the cushion and the human.

"The Space In Between" by marlowe

the poem

I keep waiting, the dogs
snoring at my knees, bent
around contours that don’t exist
in nature. We keep waiting
as though the punch line is coming
any second now, revealing
some deeper meaning we could not discern
otherwise on our own. Yes
this imposed pause is what gets
to us as everything else
passes, leaving me still, unmoved,
careful not to wake the dogs.
I keep waiting, enmeshed,
breaths timed to the rhythm
of a different animal, dancing
in the void between inhalations,
wondering what will happen next,
suspended, as though this script
had not been played before.

Category:Animal, Ephemeral, Human | Comments Off | Autor: