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Robert Dunn Bruce Weber Larissa Shmailo Lori Rappaport Michael Graves Tom Obrzut Linda Lerner Madeline Artenberg Austin Alexis Ptr Kozlowski Thomas Fucaloro George Spencer Yuko Otomo Bob Heman JD Rage Hassanal Abdullah Back to Issue 41_42 Back to Front Page |
Issue 41/42 : July - December, 2008 : Volume 11 No 1/2 Bruce Weber The Landscape The landscape. The night. The moon. The bridge. These are the things that tantalize the spirit. That drag coal from the depths of the dark cellar. That drive hard bargains with the devil and his horde. The landscape sleeps in my arms like a child. Turning up its green collar in springtime. Hissing at winter's cold tail. Sticking out its silly tongue at frisky squirrels. The night peels itself open like a coconut. The night recedes into the distance in perfect perspective. The night kneels before the holy mother in absolute devotion. The moon. Ah the moon. The moon watches all of us. Craggy. Full of deep recessions. Cluttered with porous stones and romantic laments. It teases the ocean Pulling in the tides Like a ferocious yoyo Played with by a devilish child With eyes as big as stranglers hands. The bridge leads across the path of the imagination. It stumbles before honking cars. It persists even in nor'easters and plagues. Step onto the bridge. Walk across the bridge. Embrace the bridge as an ally Of Dreams Of Visions as deep as the lavender glaze On the Chinese bowl from the ancient era of Tsi Han. The landscape. The night. The moon. The bridge. These are my guideposts To the unpredictability of the universe. The magnetic pull of strangely irresistible strings That pull the chords on the puppet's shoulders and our lives. |