Anchor Days
I saw their vibrating eyes reflecting a world of motion, a moving train they would attempt to grab because everyone must at least attempt. But some don’t. Sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes I accepted the motion was separate from me, and when I found myself still, it all looked to be grey.
When I found myself still, everybody looked to be exuding such extreme effort just to hold on, and what else could they do? But sometimes I reached out, and grabbed a railing, and found myself dragged through bright cities and old wetlands and quiet deserts and roaring oceans and boring jobs and lives.
And when I was in motion with the world, everything looked to be black and white. Spontaneous, controlled, rich, poor, man, woman, black, white, happy, sad. And when I was in motion I sought stillness. And when I was still I sought motion. But I didn’t really have a choice.
And I felt myself floating, because I was never really on the ground. I was just a ship on the water, moving in and out of anchor days.