White

A flightless sparrow dreams of northern shores, its wings clipped so that it may be allowed some freedom in a huge mansion that has become its prison.

Thankful for the animal welfare en vogue during the last decades, a wild dog hunts with less cunning, perhaps wary only of the occasional vehicle that gets lost in its territory.

From the ruins left by a forest fire, a salamander crawls without its slime, fresh from its recent metamorphosis, its nostrils basking in the air’s fullness despite the vapors rising from the debris.

In the absence of his muse, a writer embarks on the first pages of his epic that has been long-overdue, his fingers trembling as they write visions that he has forced upon his decrepit status.

After millennia of unparalleled hosannas, an angel praises the continued absence of corporal pleasures in the silver city as he sings in the absence of his God.

No longer a man of faith, a priest celebrates mass before a congregation who still claim a stronger possibility of salvation compared to believers in other religious persuasions.

A musician plays on broken strings; a boy masturbates without any shred of imagination.

A house is built on fragile reeds, home to a drunk who is comforted by his collection of empty bottles.

The brain inquires amidst arguments about the existence of the mind.

A chair invites without its seat, testimony to a cushioned past.

A book is judged without the slightest perusal of its pages.

A tree blooms bereft of leaves, wallowing in the boredom of local seasons.

The sun follows the earth while the galaxy follows the sun while the universe unfolds for this galaxy.

Heaven exists without its music. The moment of truth is a lie...

                          - excerpt from In time for Supper