Ladies night at Swears' (Ft. Collins, Colorado)

Gliding along,

a night with Eddie Arnold

in an African room

filled with desperation,

Figures in movement

dressed by definition,

within the costumes

of what they want to be.

There were spears

and heavy carvings,

lamps covered in straw

glowed in the darkness.

Women in heat

with nowhere to go

stalked by men

with nothing to hide.

Eddie played on

in a mid-winters dream

as the players passed time

with the flashing of feet.

Away until next week

a preview of time,

where once again

everything stops for a night.

Passing emotions

become the proof of life

within the world of vacuums

hidden by eyes.

Nowhere is nowhere

unless you’re there,

your entity is your essence

for those that care.

If in your being

there is no self,

than your reality

is absurd.

If you are not

at where you're at,

than where you're at

doesn't really exist.

If where you’re at

does not exist

then you are

undefined.

Located in each of our silences

is the heart of the matter,

that burning question,

“What are we?.”

Cast in space

looking into mirrors,

sending out directions

to a world not there.

It's too absurd to be true

but there is just you,

which could explain why

we are each, alone.