Crooked shelves on black bookcases
hold texts that are in disarray and unread.
Carvers make swirls and designs of foliage
throughout all the wood in the library, and
don’t think twice about whether or not they’re
doing the right thing. Outside there are people
bending street signs and making obscene gestures
at the sky; while the taxi drivers honk their horns
and scream at the top of their lungs out of their

A girl in her teens is carrying her brother
trying to get someone to notice his broken
foot and send her in the direction of something
that heals, but there are deeper wounds that are
distracting from the self inflicted tragedies of
the individual. No one knows how to make
things grow anymore they only know how
to spend money and carry the plastic bags in
from the car, and they wonder why they are
no longer welcome in the sea.

There is an eye out there that takes notice of
things that are vulnerable on a cosmic scale,
and I am starting to believe it has noticed us.
It’s pupil focuses like the lens of a camera
and keeps us in the center of its view. Things
need to be observed in order to exist in the first place,
and with an audience like this there is no
hope of it all just fading out and silence returning
to our corner of the galaxy. The show will rage
on to its conclusion and when it’s done the programs
will be trampled on the floor.

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