| A DAY IN THE SUN A heavenly arsonist plies his trade: laying waste, signalling this picture's demise, enlightening this blind man to the world passing before my very eyes. Never has this world appeared to me as clear as this gilded picture frame. A transparent pallette of life, the most elaborate collage: it's aim. Before you is presented proof: the whole of the world you know. Do you see it as forests or trees? Half-full, half-empty? Just let it flow. Struck down in dizzy-headed ecstasy, I dance and revel in light-headed hope: now I can see through an artist's eye is like peering through a colorless kaleidescope. A water fountain launches its liquid missles, a miraculous gift once bestowed upon man, now sent back. He tries to return it to the benevolent body whose altruism too many of us forget we lack. Looking at the world around me, I find that I am born aloft. Baring my wide-open chest to it so that sated eyes feel a touch that could only be satiny soft. Turning over new leaves and new cheeks to all, I snatch up all the lemons from the world's worst that roll to me from life's overturned cart and make lemonade to slake the the world's thirst. My tight hairy chest is the Earth's sieve: filtering out all the black impurities and disease, leaving us with only the purest glassful of golden beating hearts, desiring only to please. |