FILTERED
The thermostat gone?
Got the temperature wrong?
The streets perhaps melting
(apocalypse perhaps, or
then again, revolution)
but you are
energy frozen
into mass
do not
really feel it
barely notice things encroaching,
swamp seeping under the door
me too
none too sprightly, grounded
either
the director insisting on
capturing me
in devious
Dutch angles
look like
a brass rubbing (all that
charcoal to
convey the depth of
the shadow)
not to psychologize unnecessarily
but
you get
my gist
a perceptible stirring, perhaps
dream, desire
getting filtered
a rustling in the trees growing,
becoming more pronounced
perhaps
a parallel process
could this mark
a crescendo
if you do
possess insight then
tell me
pray tell me
none too superlative I fear
myself to be when
such subtleties appear
