COBWEBBED GENIUS

That little boy in that jutted spread of naked trees is up to something.  He keeps pulling that hood over his face and opening up his coat to make himself look bigger.  Those gestures he’s making with his arms are strange.  Like some kind of ritual, slow motion and slightly choreographed.  He speaks to someone that isn’t there rather convincingly, even waiting for the absent friend to respond to his questioning.  It’s as if that little boy is the only person that exists in the universe.  I stare so long and so intently, I’m convinced that if he turns and notices me, that would be it.  Nothing would exist.  His concentration broken.  We all happen to be in the order we’re in – separate lives, ballgames, cell phones, late-night news, beaded curtains – thanks to the power of his imagination.  Everything here was put here by him.  In exactly the right spot and order.  One look away could destroy trillions of lifetimes.  Everything he’s created.

 

Well, I can’t take it.  I’m going to yell at him.

-SLL