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Poems and Features

Two Poems nyla matuk

Clouds

Watching the guard at the Viennese design museum, his unknowing gathering, rising. He asks us where we are from, really. We might have asked the same, but didn’t. We may seem a system of particles, familiar from afar. Yet we’re strange when you take a closer look, like his trompe l’oeil ingress. He paces as a hover of droplets drops the whole spectrum of light and electric energy down on us. Our thoughts hold, with headroom. Once lost to us, they let us get lost, too. Everything in the gallery is finely developed but trepidatious. The objective of the game is not to speak each other into existence, in any part. Not to advance as a universal symbol or presage bad times ahead. These lucid corridors lead to a false infinity – certainty. Even a history of fog. They are historic, tragedies pre-arranged. Forgettable, the fog of an afternoon long ago at a ballpark, the candy floss of Sunday, of a bath and a Disney show. Beams of sunshine direct consciousness toward the will to be perplexed. Unknowing is the product of what yields power over us, the capricious clap of sudden activity. ‘Where are you from?’ is dread, finally revealed, dislike that they don’t recognize us, that dislike being unpleasant. He’s the opposite of shimmering, floating between rooms. He sits uncomfortably in this unknown storm, a cage offering no relief. He judges and fears unknowable self and others, and thinks everyone unpredictable,

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