Sunday, September 20, 2020


Dressed in your Sunday best, you’re surprised to feel snowflakes landing on your bare skin, it’s not the season for this.  Friends have taken pictures of you and one of them didn’t frame it so well, or maybe framed it exceedingly well.  You’re standing inside a snow globe.  A whole life along with you.

And what a pretty snow globe it is, red base, decorated for the holidays, just waiting for someone to walk by and shake things up comment on how pretty it is.

You hear notes of a Peter Gabriel song on your breath and feel the weight of the tool in your hand.  You almost said weapon, but no, it’s just a tool. You feel more than see the globe shatter, hopefully no harm done to the contents, just the container.  

Seven rounds of this, cycling in, below the bottom of the ocean floor where everything that lives has no name.  Each time, a pulse that becomes the sound of hands clapping together, inciting, supporting, calling to action.  The tower falls again and again, by your own hand, and from the outside of your inside.

Given the fact that you chose tool and not weapon, we’ll call this one a breakdown to break through.

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