Because Warhol was Right

Had it in the right vein anyway, that household objects are beautiful, especially the broom which is bound upright and looks so much like a discreet woman gathering her skirts against the gloom, because dust is what we dismay, what we envy, what we entreat to the corners & brush out of the day, because the bottle of bleach is so curved & circumspect in its boundaries and is the arbiter of all that may be clean

Because nightfall is imminent, because dawn is a question mark, because dusk draws the lines around conversations and words and through utterances we hope to make sure our mark is drawn upon the world

Because I am I, or what I would’ve hoped to be, or I am not, or that I am a page, or a blankness, an utter refuge from thinking of what am I, or that I is a making, or that I is part of something more than what it seems today

Because balls of yarn are unfurled, because the circle is the universe, and that what unfolds is being in time, although being is never universal, or that being is not just little terrarium stars, blinked out across your horizon

Because the meaning is yet to be discovered, and is discovered through saying, although not normally discovered, except for years later, when we reflect, or remember by looking very closely at a leaf, and for the first time recognizing that the leaf mirrors the same body as our human one, and then by then too late

Because there are systems, because everything revolves around them and to them, and that systems are endemic of the natural world, and all that is natural; because systems are the brain’s way of working out the limitless numbers of stars in the sky, the way of saying that this face differs from this face differs from me

Because I am the foothold, because I am the threshold; because I don’t know the answers to the darkness, or what remains there; because I am amphibious, because the sunlight casts its wise light on all those who choose to take its light in

Because darkness is everywhere, because there are seeds of consolation; because the light of living doesn’t always heal, because pain is superfluous, because time is a long hallway of diminishing light; because light is relative and therefore means something different to every human on the planet; and inclusiveness is a flat line, and all the hearts drum along in succession; sequestered in their closeted space

Because forever is a pinprick, because the stage the waterfall; because I have seen inside of oceans green combed black, because waking doesn’t release the dream, because a serpent rides on backs of minutes, because the sidewalk turns to a circle, because grey is the inside of the eyes, and the school of fish turns one cloud of flashing light; and we get old, and face away, and grieve small handprints; and make fluttering sounds in our flight, and stoop over a valley of papery memories, try to catch them and hold them, hold the little fishes, so near.