The Fine Art Of Invisibility

08-16-2001, 03:56 PM

Master is a snake
slick and silent
strikes down like lightning.

Master is a toad,
sticky tongue
sticks out
catches flies…

Master is invisible.

“Secret is sitting still,” he whispers.

Invisibility is the true Ruler
of the natural world.

Master says those who practice the fine art,
do it alone.
But should never be so surprised
when someone taps them on the shoulder.

I set a time and place.
“I’d defy time, but I’ve plans
and things to do. Perhaps tomorrow,
surely not today.”

“The world is a broken appointment,”
Master warns.

“And today,” he follows,
“Is there any other day?”

In the waiting room, I realize,
that in truth,
nothing works in theory.

Master says,
“There’s a carpet spark on my fingertip, here take it.”

I accept the charge.

Thunder erupts from a silent sky.
And in the crack of lighting
and the absence of words
I shake my head and disguise and
become naked
under a dying breeze, dying breath,
burning in a fire
fathoming the one
behind the eyes.

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