White masks and black faces on railings in grey concrete streets filled with rain and grey clouds
While life passes beyond our ability to act, or play or design
when all there are are sticks impaled on railings
in Venetian carnivals with music and water and fireworks
where the silence of the mask lies heavy in the arms
of the drug addled child wresting against fate,
and speed
and movement
Existing in the place between the face and the space
Of stillness and silence and energy and movement and speed
The place of projection is also the face of protection
And the story playing endlessly
in empty theatres with red sets and barren windows
where swifts fly in blue skies
behind bars
