Written 2016
exclusive to bobjudeferrante.com
Now
Fast the people outmaneuver each
other on the street, shoulders
almost touching, bags, old folks,
wheelchairs, canes trying, trying to slow us but they
fail, fail, fail, fail.
Now
We watch not stable objects but
only those in motion relative to our speed,
looking for change that will affect our course,
intent only on motion ,
on action but not being.
Now
Each second recurs, though we are
more and more dead, and we know
after the moment when we are finally fully dead
we will lay
inert and dissolving
no longer able to act,
so we push forward, to
get
to get it
to get it all done.
Now
We seek the way to make it,
our artifact, our name, glow brighter
than other names, branding that name into the
paper of a thousand magazines newspapers books
burning its shape into laptop screens
neon billboards
video monitors
phone OLEDs
searing its magic dog-looking-up sound into
songs
albums
stations
Now
The hot glare
the wet air
the sweat there and there and there
pushing through the dense pressure filled mass of
warm unfolding gas just one more
just one more block
just one more block to
just one more block to reach
Now
Rising enlarging number over
glass door 652 check phone
put away so not get knocked from hand by onrushing
oblivious people until reach the
bronze door handle: warm, firm.
Now
Pull the weight yanks back to
arm muscle the door gives the
cold dry blast the darkened lobby
marble the reflecting floor the wood counter
the man with a blue tunic with a badge with a
glazed eye.
Now
art: Streetcorner by bob jude ferrante [copyright 2017]