the dreamers

i was one of the insatiables.
the ones you'd always find sitting closest to the screen.
why do we sit so close?
maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first.
when they were still new, still fresh.
before they cleared the hurdles of the rows behind us.
before they'd been relayed back from row to row,
spectator to spectator;
until worn out,
secondhand,
the size of a postage stamp,
it returned to the projectionist's cabin.
maybe, too, the screen was really a screen.
it screened us... from the world.


i was noticing that the more you look at it
everything, this table, the objects on it, the refrigerator, this room, your nose, the world...
suddenly, you realise that these some sort of cosmic harmony of shapes and sizes...
i was just wondering why
i don't know why that is
i know that it is...

the dreamers