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#a430 Spun aluminum pillbox

April 22, 2009

I’m at the far end of the wire.

The warmth of the crowd rises up into the moldy canvas peak of the tent here. It pours from their eyes, their upturned, open mouths.

I toss the balance pole into the air, pivot the other way, catch the pole and head back across the wire.

Their glasses glint up at my sparkling soles, my cartoon skirt.

Light from the fresnels spangles the tent through the beveled reflections of all that eyewear.

I stroll to the other side.

And this image from our apartment is what I focus on behind my eyes.

God DAMN it, Seth. You left me.