photo: Neely Johnson
Gears grind, drones buzz, and stale music chirps through fuzzy speakers as fluorescent bulbs beam brightly, cultivating the concrete bubble and it's creatures:
The wolf, who dresses in baggy sheep’s clothing while his fangs glisten at every plastic transaction and gleam insatiably for women.The sole-less nymph sneakily flutters to feed prey right into the baggin’ saggin’ wolf’s smacking teeth. Beware of her enchanting visage.
There are the two-headed sirens- their beautifully painted faces deceive every bare eye- for their sharp tongues and sweet gazes mask their expired kindness.
And then there is the lioness – her full mane and towering strut shake the Machine until the wolf’s sheep costume crumples lifelessly, the nymph’s soles glued to the ground, and the sirens’ heads shrivel squeamishly.
The clickity clack chatter of nonsense wilt away, while the brightly colored wallpaper peel, revealing comatose cracked plaster. The imposters are out of costume as the cracked whip leaves them raw in form. The masks are off - all fooling one to think that life is captured in the Machine.
One step outside – at the mercy of reality – where all of the glitz melts away, only to have them scramble back to the wool blanket of fluorescent bulbs and painted smiles.
May those gears forever grind.
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