facing ...

(a break in between metaphors and models and cups of tea and shadows on walls)

face this, then: white clothed lady

a slight man with a big smile

you'd never guess his story

till the telling of tales begun:

pizzas sodas donuts cheese

until his feet became blimps

red sirens stilled into white hospital beds

the successful financier

enough stones overweight that

several nurses had to work together to turn him

until he was there with tubes and wires and his

concerned indian mamma

scolding the man who never grew up

only then did he see the desparation at the end of the tunnel

the powerlessness

the fatality

of his attempts at survival

face this then: hooded blackness

he was tall, handsome, oxford-bred

he was quick to assure me english was

not his first language

somewhere under thirty with the cynicism of the comfortable

the indian said he was beginning to think life was just a game and

really he preferred economics, the simple numbers at the end of the

day

sure it was meaningless but at least it was clear and

if they didn't listen to you just throw more graphs at them:

no one wanted to admit ignorance

but what, i wondered, are you really ignorant of

have you really

looked in the shadow land

beneath the curve of the supply chain

have you really

sat with those who have

nothing

dont talk to me of resilience

you who have not faced

that naked siren of a woman

who will lure you to her Shadow- Master's door

before the postman

notices you didn't

collect yesterday's mail.

face this then: a shadow where there was once substance

the memory came sharp, pungent -

the sound of his voice in my ear

i was 5, 15, 20, 25....

ah, i'd manage to forget -

the taste of death

not today

by god

not today