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Tip toeing out into the warming darkness, he is timid yet confident. He is black on black. The form defined by its worn rounded edges.
He looks up.
The stage lights come on behind him, elucidating those edges and leaving the shadow as his creamy center, swirling in it's darkness and drooling off of his fingertips. He is in a strange form tonight folks, stretching from floor to celling in a gooey shadowed taffy pull.
But where is he in this stretched out mess?
...Where IS the author now?
I don't see room for him in this plasticy thin crearure, all fanned out with its magnifiscient fingers.
Where is the artist now?
I barely see room for a man in this stark alien form.
We have caught the man transposed, trapped in some all-too-human form of naked midnight wanderings. A form none of us want to demean the greats with. Is he hiding just under that alien tarp? just tell it: He isn't here. He simply isn't here.
He looks up.
The stage lights come on behind him, elucidating those edges and leaving the shadow as his creamy center, swirling in it's darkness and drooling off of his fingertips. He is in a strange form tonight folks, stretching from floor to celling in a gooey shadowed taffy pull.
But where is he in this stretched out mess?
...Where IS the author now?
I don't see room for him in this plasticy thin crearure, all fanned out with its magnifiscient fingers.
Where is the artist now?
I barely see room for a man in this stark alien form.
We have caught the man transposed, trapped in some all-too-human form of naked midnight wanderings. A form none of us want to demean the greats with. Is he hiding just under that alien tarp? just tell it: He isn't here. He simply isn't here.