Borrowed Eyes

It is a sweet, ambiguous, ironic illusion
what I create.
It is the awakening of colours that may or may not have actually resided in the canvas threads of this moment
It is a symphony of rich, strong-willed voices.
The volume is key here
not the words
or the content
or the hidden meanings.
Here, the music is so loud you might as well be talking under water.
But you can hear whatever you want, too

I can be your silence.

With a flushed face and sparkly, absent-minded eyes
she’s having the most interesting conversation she’s had in a while
He
just likes the absence of uncertainty.
And don’t get me wrong
Not many step into this deal with something in mind
I create the purpose
the goal materializes out of the hot, saturated air the moment you step into it
–the moment you embrace the insanity and choose to be a part of it
Let go,
Let go,
Let go.

Have another sip.

She takes a long deep breath of the look in his eyes
He can see the ocean on her breath, you see
He can see whatever he wants
They paint their own pictures.
Ah,
‘This isn’t real’, you say
‘When they leave, when the world goes back to sleep in the morning
the spectacle vanishes.’
Well, let me ask you one thing about your grand views on sobriety
What if one is as often drunk
as one is not?
What becomes the reality then?

Awareness doesn’t come only in sharp, solid images.
In the morning she remembered the heat
and the colours
and that he was from a small town in Ontario.