GozillaTheatre by : Natalie Stovall – 2017
As night slowly slips into
its later stage
a sort of quelled madness
takes hold of my soul and
causes me to question the nature
of all things.
How is it that these street-lamps
which line the road Came to fan its photons
in such a way as to
emit this light
which arrests me so?
I think that when we die, the whole
world spins a blanket of night over our
souls
and then we wander…
And all the good ones, the ones we
look to, the ones we know we cannot
be, become our lampposts.
Flecks of luminous clouds that line the path
to somewhere we know not
but all that will come. Right now
there is this exquisite concrete to
contemplate, and the wonder that is
the cookie-cutter strip-mall,
and the notion that life will seem too
short later, when now it seems to
stretch ahead unremittingly.
Most of all, there are these
street-lamps, those quietly
humming sentinels that hold back
the dark, and reveal
the magnetism of the night.