How does the world feel? How can it feel normal, as I sit in my car, ticket already placed gently in my jacket pocket – an hour before the show begins? How does it feel when I am waiting, two hundred miles away from where I should be, a couple hundred thousand heart-beats away from my next kiss. Is this efficiency? Am I an outlier? Where does this fit into the equation? I see no unseen hands, nor have I the faith and hope to look. Not all ‘things’ can move some hearts to joy, and it is this truth I most accept. I am here to tell the prophets that they are blind. I am here to tell the mind it cannot know. All things seen are not seen true, so who are we to call them ‘right’?
The show proceeds and I perceive a show – not the celluloid or the wall.
Andrew Venegas
San Jose
SJSU
poetry
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