A mobile of airplanes
Projected a shadow
To prove that one's vision
Is fooled with some floodlights.
I gazed at the pattern,
Ignoring exhibits
Of physics in motion.
The cars were just dullards;
The airplanes, just metal.
The phone for the grown-ups,
Arranging and chatting.
Though fearsome, they groveled
While talking to someone:
An expletive, whispered.
Receivers in darkness.
Maturity seemed to
Be horror that ought not
Be spoken; a terror
Of duties to voices
That call in the evening;
The voice of possession.
I'm owned by an owner
Who's owned by an owner—
And sugar is meted
So carefully one must
Be certain that nothing
Is spilled, or we'll crawl on
Our knees to recover
Our losses and longings.
If pleasure's forsaken,
Then whimsy will vanish,
And cars will be autos—
Illusions, just shadows.
"The tugboats are moving, the dredges are working, and today Exploratorium officials will host a groundbreaking ceremony on a $300 million project that will transform two huge piers on the Embarcadero into a new home for the hands-on science museum."
—David Perlman, Chronicle Science Editor, Tuesday, October 19, 2010
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/10/18/MN941FS8PI.DTL
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2 comments:
interesting play on words...when our illusions are gone what is next...
Interesting images, Khakjaan. Nice One Shot!
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