The Somatic Series: Poetry Workshop #4 at MadArts
I stared at the people,
Touching what looks like
hundreds of freshly purchased door stops or springs,
perfectly mounted inches apart,
on a dark painted blackboard,
which appears to be a creature in a dormant state of slumber.
With the warmth of human hands,
gliding over the cold springs,
each yielding soft sounds,
with a flash of louder colors,
lighting up the room,
as if the creature within was awoken.
I watched some,
who have gentle random gestures,
in awe of a light show they received,
as if it bashfully blinked and said thank you,
for the comforting touch.
I watched others,
who have more vigorous predictable motions,
in return received a larger display of emotions,
with more colors than before,
as if it was defiantly disturbed from its peaceful rest,
I watched it recoil to its quiet,
hibernating self,
the board becoming dark again,
its voice silenced,
once the last patron left the room,
only to repeat its cycle,
with the next wave of patrons,
about to enter the realm
of the creature in the quantum jungle.
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