"Unmoved"
Mario Tofano
Unmoved
I am still and moving.
The car is moving, the landscape flies by
But it is still too. Like me
The earth is rotating and orbiting and pulsing within.
It is still when I am still.
Quick silver and exhaust cascade above miles of still country highway.
Tearing motion into stillness.
Appearance is funny that way.
Motion is constant as my aged leather bound watch demonstrates.
His digital brother, sophisticated but cogless agrees subtly.
Progress’s foil is not regress
As regression is progression towards yesterday,
Once esteemed as tomorrow and now.
Or eastbound at dawn.
Os-cil-late, Os-cil-late, maker’s man
Motion is still and moving as motion, is.
Oiled caws dominate the afternoon’s peppered complexion.
The sky is moving and I am still.
In the distance a breeze stirs, unsettling dust colonies.
The distance is moving and I am still and I am moving and
Wheat labyrinths sway in unison turning in and out the gentle golden tide
on the quiet asphalt jetty.
My watch’s face parades the mask of motion,
hands juggle vainly like Sisyphus.
O unredeemable hands that dig me five feet in at dawn then
Wait til twilight to jettison two cents and a memory.
Unveiling motion reveals innumerable diamond faces
Casting and capturing reflections of itself.
Accelerating towards greater rates of stillness,
coughing filtered Turkish smoke I
Laugh at Marinetti’s challenge to the stars.
Animation requires the inanimate.
Appearance is funny that way.
Futurist, Futurist burning bright
Did Albert’s equation hinder your fight?
Motion is eternally present capered Burnt Norton as he
Preferred the eternal jig to the big freeze.
Setting severed blaze tosses sparks onto placid Midwestern plains.
The wheels have been drifting across the single still road all day.
The tired sun and pastel clouds and van gogh crows and shiva breeze and
royal smoke and homeless dust and witless cogs and poised landscape and
I am still and moving, the unmoved mover.
Appearance is funny that way.
Everything breathes.
|
