Salon. (Not a Hair Salon)

An Evening at The Upper West Side Salon

Apartment #002
twists into a technicolor jumble,
as we riff on caste & color & power & privilege & good & evil,
as we break open boxes of control and see the dead cat inside,
but she's alive.
as we re-distribute wealth and pray to a god,
and there is no god.
as we question #progress and change, lurching forwards
and slipping back.

In a gleaming white kitchen,
we bounce thoughts off brick walls,
that change while we watch them.
naked - and then clothed - in the Garden of Eden,
we walk through each other's dreams.

Glasses of Sorel collide, we drink,
playing games,
threading our consciousness,
to form the crooked edges of a patchwork web.

Around the table, over seven layer dip and hazelnut toffees,

we slide sideways in time,

remembering the future as we wait for the past.