I see dazzling white, surrounding and invading all over.

A window of white and blue opens at the edge.

I could so easily fall off the plane and into imaginary, a different realm-

Would anyone notice? You smile, say

I would.

You smile as if you know that I'm thinking exactly this:

That I want to fall off, into the white,

Then glide off, soaring, then floating to a soft cushion- green moss.

When my eyes are closed I can still see the bright
Surroundings in the dark (they are in my head).

But when my eyes are open all I see is the

Harsh dark of the pierching flashing existance in an eruption of

Neon buzzing on-off-on-off

Purple, green, magenta. The signs say

Why are you standing? So I can see more clearly,

    So I'm not the decider.

(Off they say- This is your dark space.)

    I'm alone in this courtyard and the liquor store is red.

    It's a hide out.

    If only it would be foggy tonight, then I could be invisible and pretend of an imaginary

Friend, one who could see

The dark space, devoid of white or color.

In the foggy mist I would wait

Because here I am washed all over with the

    magenta-purple-green.

But I don't feel any cleaner than when I came.

Friend, if you snap your fingers, to whose dark space will we go?

Mine has green moss and is

Sootless unlike the side of this fountain.

 

13 April 2004

Rachel Granberg

Anita Stapen