It’s like I’m seeing a shadow. A reflection reminding me of a picture I once knew. Not some Olan Mills recreation of smiles that could only exist in front of a brushed blue background; everyone wearing clothes they would never otherwise wear so that the image saved matches the ideal imagined. But a living, breathing snapshot memory that moves and breathes of its own accord. A mental daguerreotype, a penny arcade flipbook picture stored somewhere in the cobwebs.
Tuna casseroles and Lazy Boys. TV commercial conversations. Comfortable but detached. Real but somehow covered in plastic, laminated against decay. It’s a picture I’ve seen in many colors, against all sorts of backdrops. Somehow everyone has one just like it in their albums or keepsakes.
Even when you shake it up, the oil will find a way to float to the top. Even when you keep it safe from extinction, the animal will pace the cage.
Tables for one.
Singing in the car.
Footprints in the sand.
Ivory towers and stained glass windows. Something familiar about the way these trade winds are blowing.
It troubles me, this peace.
I’m just not sure why…
Tuna casseroles and Lazy Boys. TV commercial conversations. Comfortable but detached. Real but somehow covered in plastic, laminated against decay. It’s a picture I’ve seen in many colors, against all sorts of backdrops. Somehow everyone has one just like it in their albums or keepsakes.
Even when you shake it up, the oil will find a way to float to the top. Even when you keep it safe from extinction, the animal will pace the cage.
Tables for one.
Singing in the car.
Footprints in the sand.
Ivory towers and stained glass windows. Something familiar about the way these trade winds are blowing.
It troubles me, this peace.
I’m just not sure why…