Settling Crowd
- Maggie Mendoza
Standing as a series of silk screened tshirts
A legion of expressionless lemurs curiously staring
Into their barricades of mirrors
Hooking their thumbs and anchoring their elbows
In gingham printed looms round with a wailing child
Standing without a hint of difference from the next
Handshakes pregnant with doubt
Words uttered timid and mimicked
Every One becoming a crowd
The air is bland and odorless
I want them to wreak, to balloon
Flesh out their matter
Into something more tangible than
Crevassed hips traced onto thin opaque vellum
I hear them as mere echoes, sweet reverb
These ghosts drip from saturation
Dyed under a heavy current
Floating balsa, ruined and useless, settling. .
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