man walks through a door and catches polly’s eye (jupiter and semele – part two)

by practicalspactical

Semele, Polly, looks up to see man open the door to the coffee shop and walk in — the first thing she grasps is his hair, a long wild bobdylan birdsnest, and then the next thing she notices is his height and general build and age — 5’7″, thin, same age as me — and she feels her everythings tense, like a magnet across a wooly willy drawing toy, all the iron flakes rising to meet the —

this is life, she thinks, thoughts disturbed by instincts, and she doesn’t know why she has focused on him, but she knows it, and he stands in line, slouching, hardly handsome, certainly not beautiful, but there it is, there it is, and art and thought and smartness fails — she has been alone awhile, and has forgotten how to talk to people, and so she sits and watches, and writes stories of love affairs and engagements and vacations to California and afternoons at zoos naming animals —

He is up, it’s his turn, he fumbles into blue jeans for wrinkled dollars, she can see, she can imagine it, what is he, is he a writer, is he a musician, or maybe something else, a banker or a teacher, or a bus driver — what does he do in this strange weird world —

She is a woman, she thinks, and interested, but shy, both the cultivated coyness of the mysterious woman, the ones who’ve grown beautiful, I know, I know I am beautiful, I was not always but I am now, and if I catch his eye – and catch his eye she does, as he turns with his coffee and looks at her, his own eyes quickly sharpen into pinpoints in that same magnetic way – instinct, instinct singing softly – and in their gaze the history of life is played out and a thousand quantum universes are born and die worlds of new life blink in and blink out — every gaze we ever share is just the same — and then she looks away and he looks away because this is a cold civilized world and civilization is walls — my city has a wall in its heart, she thinks —

BREAK BREAK zero xero one, intrusion from the demiurge, copper-silver bellybutton phonecord, what the what is a phone chord, kids ‘il say, sune enuffstuff  — — Semele is in love, and not in love, alone and not alone, sitting, standing, waiting watching, and the boy the man the slouchy sloppy man stands before her for a second and then breaks gaze and goes to sit down to drink his coffee — do I ever wonder if I am but a figment in the mind’s eye, someone else’s imagination? she asks herself, but looking over her shoulder to the curtained booth where she can just sort of see my feet poking out from underneath the curtain, pushing and working mysterious pedals — yes, I know, she is talking about me, but just because she does not live, just because I have to guess and fill in her bubblethoughts for her, that doesn’t mean she’s not real, or couldn’t be, of course she’s real, I’m real aren’t I, it’s just a masque, a ball, a story told from the other side — see you real soon, friends, freres, see you real soonlike