A parking lot with rain:
How jagged the concrete
How silken its puddles
Its poured-out watery silhouettes
Magic concentric circles
Fast like a dazzling tap dancer
Whose moves outpace the eye
Or a spinning vinyl in black light
How the mind anticipates what it sees
How a camera reorganizes pixels differently
How a Barbara Kruger slogan reveals digitally
What the eye doesn’t see:
An angry face in a vinyl LP
Sometimes the camera will unveil
Sometimes the surface is scrambled
That hidden message in the “White Album”
“Paul is dead” when dragged concentrically
Backward. Remember the walrus.
Turn me on, dead man. Kruger on
The collision of looking & being:
The eye is the major player. A threat
to that eye is a threat to what it means
to live another day.