Waves

Lines form symbols which turn waves
into particles so we can make use of them.
They force people to shovel shredded paper,
held together with wet pulp from spruce
trees, into their lunchboxes. They all walk
to their jobs laughing and pointing to
pictures of things they wish they had, on
their phones. Never once do they look
around at all the things they’ve let fall to
the sidewalk.
Gaps in our perception make the demons
look like crows in the distant sky. A teacher
points out the window at them, and praises
the strict order of their flight patterns.
Most don’t hear her however, and keep their
eyes locked on their palms hoping orbs of
fire will form there so they can burn it all
away.
A dying magician scrapes the brick wall
of his cell with the top of a broken staff.
He needs to make a tunnel back to them so
they can understand how the trick will end.
We’re still in the middle of it,
but something miraculous could
happen any second now.
It smiles in the corners of our eyes.

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