Without a Trace
To have the freedom to imagine
To walk with sensory awareness
To accept reality needs to bed fantasy
Is to know…
Jules Verne had his sea
King had his nightmarish Shining
Faces and images of thrill and haunting
Ghosts from pages of imagination
To carry the impact of like writings
To move along the crowded sidewalks of 5th Ave
To embrace eye contact
Is to encounter the enigmatic heroine
The transparent hero
The flesh and blood wannabe remembrance
Whose eyes meet yours
Even as one might spin around as she passes by
As if she had just seen a ghost
Leaving you transported to another place
As the muffled something
She was saying
Is gone
Without a trace
Such might be the painful beginnings for storywriters
Whose daily expression
Is ten stories up
Forty-three desks to the rear
Adding machines and calculators
Totalitarian-entrapment of free-beings
Today’s Kafka Trial run amuck
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My brother told me not to make eye contact with New Yorkers. I guess, probably because someone might take offense and start something. "You looking at me!" But that was in the subway. On 5th Avenue it could be a way to meet girls, like having breakfast at Tiffany's with Audrey. That sure would've been nice. Much better than Wait until Dark. Not to mention classic movies, so I won't. ;-)
Ron