"Dark Terrace 1" by Josette Urso
The landscape seems thrown away like a crumpled page from a
magazine rolling, blowing through the streets of this city. Existing
here without signs of the watcher, the brooding presence, giving
consciousness to mere reflex. Some cities are so shallow, or
perhaps some mornings, that it is hard to believe the people are
alive any more than the buildings or restaurants. So thin, unquestioning.
Each brick, each citizen, without its own reflection, lacking the ache
of quiet doubt, giving depth to perception. The desert cities, the low
spreading cities where in the place between sleep and waking the
morning produces an angle of light which lays flat on the people, their
homes, and their cars.
And to move from here to move as I did as a child, where the gray is
nothing but the dripping cold behind each face. A visitor to the morning, so immersed in a daydream that both dreams and the day
are banished. Banished only to a shadow's approximation of night.
Marc Penka 2002
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