at a mountain cafe
the guy in the parked car wearing aviators––
is he checking me or my wife
or does he happen to just be looking in my direction when I look over at him?
he sits shotgun in an electric vehicle. he has been sitting there awhile…
how long? an eternity?
since the dawn of thought, the first perception, the initial spark that
sent it all into a whirling frenzy.
we’re talkin' aeons.
I wonder:
does he know…really know…what the deal is?
maybe he is a messenger from the place beyond the edge of our system––
and he attempts to notify me via telepathy
that this place is going under,
flee this planet while you still can,
get out, now––and take your Boston Terrier and your wife and any valuables you might treasure and skedaddle!
but the message doesn’t penetrate (too much fluoride in the pineal clogs up the third-eye vision, perhaps)
so I sit and sip the and type and “Für Elise” pipes through the speakers and when I look over again,
the man is gone…
beautiful!
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