Sock Puppeteers

They couldn't ask why, because I'm all grown up now. They didn't say no, throw accusations of insanity, or demand more involvement, because I'm all grown up now.

The premise was to see what others don't usually try to. People speed past so many things in their lives, like they're stepping in an elevator and magically appearing on only the floor they want to be. It's willing ignorance of what all the other stories hold, a calculated indifference.

Off the shoulder, the snakes rustled in the underbrush and litter, undisturbed by the rattling of cars. Roadkill in various states of decay, marsupial bones and lizard skins, discarded and eyeless. Sugar gliders quiet and small, fly in astronomical twilight.

I biked at night, with socks as gloves. We don't look at stars for science or faith, but for wonderment and vanity. This is my universe, those are stars in my galaxy, and dear God we're beautiful.

The moonlit dam and midnight train, were the only lights and noise over the kilometers I traveled. I couldn't think through any of it, under the delirium I traveled. During the train ride back through half-formed dreams and ghosts floating and alighting, my thoughts curled up with the idea that perhaps they all understood why, while only held back by the belief that their time's worth more than it is.