"An Evening with Lucy"

circa Fall 2001
(originally written on the back of inventory sheets from a Mann theater I worked at)

he calls out to the sweeping patterns painted upon the sky
confusion sends him spinning off course
the colors won't stop bleeding into each other
so how could he possibly stay within the lines?
everything's all chaos
there's too many angles where there should be curves
delusions crowd his head
all screaming at each other, insisting that they be heard
"shut up!" he shouts "i am in control!"
nothingness laughs back at him, so loud that silence builds to an unbearable level
something inside him snaps and the Transformation is complete
or is he even changing?
too many questions for too small a space
he can feel the air molecules pressing in on all sides
he tries to fight it but something tells him to let go
that arguing with gravity and other such forces of nature would only end with him getting hurt
so he relaxes and allows himself to melt into the breeze
in doing so he becomes pollens and spices from faraway lands
and a million other things too small to be detected by the naked eye
that’s when the mischievousness takes over
if he could not be seen then how could he be stopped?
a wave of amusement sweeps through him
as he chases cardboard dragonflies and other tentative possibilities
until he is so exhausted he can no longer laugh without his sides hurting
he watches the sun sink into the earth
the cool breath of night awakens all of nature’s insomniacs
the whole universe exhales
and he feels that he is able to stand once again
he does and grows to a height of such great intensity that he hits his head on the moon
“ouch”
the pain is so sharp its almost exquisite
his fingers tingle and he brushes off his self-consciousness so he can walk easier
he can feel dew forming on his eyelashes and silver stars getting entangled in his hair
and he is content, but he feels alone
a walking shadow among brilliant beams of light
but he accepts the darkness because he purposely flips the light switch
“you can’t blame others for your own self-inflicted destruction” he reasons
“did i just think logically? i thought i had left that realm long ago”
then he crashes back down into reality, carried by the weight of rational thought
he is sad because he can no longer deceive those who see with their eyes
or chase flying paper creatures in an emerald sky
but he can still feel the rhythmic breathing of the universe
and he smiles because he knows that those on a different level from him cannot
that comprehension of a greater world is his
that if this is “self-destruction” then surely deterioration is life-giving