Eyes follow you.
Snap at you.
Sharp teeth.
Crushing jaws.
Colors surround you.
Murky water.
Deep mud.
Swirling.
Around and around.
Happy dreams.
Eyes follow you.
Snap at you.
Sharp teeth.
Crushing jaws.
Colors surround you.
Murky water.
Deep mud.
Swirling.
Around and around.
Happy dreams.
The sun sets
on glistening sand.
The ground splits open
to reveal a path.
Miles into the distance,
the path continues.
Through the mud,
you trudge.
Sinking into the muck,
you forge ahead.
Roadblocks or rocks
won’t deter you.
A crooked road it may be,
but follow it you must
until the bitter end.
Richard Misrach, ‘Clearing Storm Near Kingman,’ 1985, Robert Mann Gallery
Emptiness.
A vast open space.
Open to the sky.
Coated in dust and mud.
Rearranged by sand storms.
Washed by the rain.
We wait for help.
For the weather.
For settlers.
For investors.
We wait.
ROUND AND ROUND WE GO
The day began bright and sunny.
The merry-go-round turned round and round.
Children’s laughter filled the air.
Followed by shouts of joy.
The smell of popcorn wafted by.
Followed by the sweet smell
of cotton candy.
Round and round went the horses.
Followed by the mothers’ eyes.
Round and round we go.
Followed by the rays of sunlight.
Until the sky turned dark.
Heavy with clouds.
Followed by shrieks of thunder.
The sky lit up with lightning.
The merry-go-round was pelted by rain drops.
Followed by a heavy downpour.
The horses circled faster and faster.
The mothers followed.
Until all was gone.
All that was left was mud.
No merry-go-round.
No children.
No mothers.
No shouts of laughter.
Only wet grass.
Where did they disappear to?
To a better place?
To a place without thunder and lightning?
Your guess is as good as mine.