The Fine Art Of Invisibility

[Guest guest]

Master is a snake

slick and silent

strikes down like lightning.

 

Master is a toad,

sticky tongue

sticks out

catches flies…

 

Master is invisible.

 

“Secret is sitting still,” he whispers.

 

Invisibility is the true Ruler

of the natural world.

 

Master says those who practice the fine art,

do it alone.

But should never be so surprised

when someone taps them on the shoulder.

 

I set a time and place.

“I’d defy time, but I’ve plans

and things to do. Perhaps tomorrow,

surely not today.”

 

“The world is a broken appointment,”

Master warns.

 

“And today,” he follows,

“Is there any other day?”

 

In the waiting room, I realize,

that in truth,

nothing works in theory.

 

Master says,

“There’s a carpet spark on my fingertip, here take it.”

 

I accept the charge.

 

Thunder erupts from a silent sky.

And in the crack of lighting

and the absence of words

I shake my head and disguise and

become naked

under a dying breeze, dying breath,

burning in a fire

fathoming the one

behind the eyes.

 

 

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