birth givance

Given to swinging on moods,
of hanging on birches over cliff edges,
of ringing in new years,
and clamouring in situ in mens.

There's a silent film playing in the back room,
the light haze,
the staring eye of the projector,
the closeted space with red velvet drapes,
the gentle ssst of the film running out over the spool,
I find myself here often, watching epileptic scenes from other lives,
flickering quietly,
while the noise of the street and the blaring headlights of cars
struggle to make it through the front door.
I'm cushioned by my tiredness,
it softens the silence some more and I wrap myself in the seat,
and the solitude.
The story on-screen is one where a collection of eager points,
begin to meander their blind, frenetic ways across diverging paths,
paths spread across the world, new adventures, heartbreak, insecurity, taxes, pensions,
loud music in unseeing dance clubs,
paths that lead to the new, and quietly begin to close the door on the old,
lesser phone calls, smaller small talk,
narrowing of scope,
the disparate paths pinch off from one another.

And so a quiet room is created,
one very like the one I am sitting in,
a solitary room of reflection,
a lonely chamber of angst,
and silent wonder,
lust, ego,
and the negation of.

The reel runs out.
I have a few errands to run in the outside world.