Made of Stone
By Peter Volpone
Exploring “Moanin’”
By Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers
Toward a soothing glow, I skate
through a marble hallway-
swaying in a helical groove.
Floor lights on either side reveal column laden walls which climb out of sight.
Confetti fall from the infinite ceiling,
decorating my naked figure.
A mariner bear spins a classical ballerina-
Their spot lit dance is intricate as dispersive waves.
The room shifts 30 degrees and my glide speeds to a ski
down the adorned hall of severed heads-
sculpted on pedestals, busts of marble men; some pondering,
others exclaiming.
Steadily I approach the exit, a cinema projection out a plane-side,
which reveals an illuminant sky, sparse of clouds and dense with color.
The dive is inevitable. I inhale in excitement,
leaning into my racing heart.
I’m about to be born.
Cool hues of turquoise and magenta swirl overhead,
intoxicating, like aurora borealis.
Soaked in light, the room churns and
the marble floor rolls like wave, splitting into blocks,
cascading into lean piano keys.
Helium fills my lungs.
I drift from the ground,
now splashing and collapsing into a whirlpool of stone and skulls.
Reload.
Bring on my wings, wide and muted,
dry like pear skin. I hold tight to the stem of this enormous maple seed.
A bellowing gust throws me tumbling through the blue screen.
Head over heels
until the turbulence subsides.
I twirl from the sky,
descending from the great spring Maple,
towards the growing globe.
A candy apple hot air balloon sails overhead, across the boundless sky.
…
Down, down I go till that joyous blimp was a distant vision.
Fanfare as my feet touch concrete and I transition into a leisurely stroll through
the buzzing streets of Manhattan.
Bumblebees dressed in grey suits and bowler hats ignore each other in a rush to their opposite ends past towering hotels, empty hives, obscure the skies. Dizzy in realization, the cloud of suits and capes carry me on interlocked paths, crossing street to street. Cars burst past. Along the rooftops, workers hammer on girders, disguising the air in disharmonious rhythms. A hard-hatted manager studies upside-down blue prints. A jolly vendor offers me a bite to eat. Black cloaks brush me into a daze. Then, an explosive flock of pigeons! Cross hatched streams of white feathers take me above the skyline.
Feet to air, I traverse an imaginary staircase,
till I settle on the roof of the metro, and
breathe heavy as it swoops and curves,
caressing the space between the oblong buildings,
the motion of a lullaby.
I depart at a park fountain,
perfectly circular,
parting the noise from its cardiac point.
…
Sitting by the water, day passes into night.
The owls are now active, a languid reflection of the prior buzz.
I follow them into a low-lit cellar bar, with walls dark as untampered coffee.
The bar, itself, warm like a raspberry, hosts a waiter with a red bowtie and
pressed white sleeves under a black suit vest. The Salvador.
From glass to glass he pours liquid
orange and viscous; a whiskey bourbon.
The room adopts the tinted lens,
and warbles through the vibrant syrup,
bouncing gently wall to glass wall.
The drink caresses my throat and fills my gut. An electrical line from head to toe.
The world softens.
It’s easy.
Orange.
My shoulders sway to my own tune.
The patrons hoot in conversation.
I’m drawn to my feet, but as if
inside a pumpkin, hollowed
out by some god’s knife,
the roof opens to the full star-scape of a celestial night.
Salvador polishes a glass, tipping his head as I’m lifted into space.
Adrift on a grassy hill at midnight,
the city silhouetted behind me,
I sit near a suited scarecrow with a silly grin.
The grass whips its ankles and enshrouds his polished shoes.
The brim of its top hat bends the full moon into a crescent.
…
The sun rises over the little city and the Earth shakes with warmth.
Sharp and focused, aware yet loose:
a match is struck.
I run towards the hillside- the muddy grass erupts between my toes.
A jungle of creatures stampede behind me. I am overtaken.
Elephants pave the streets.
A tidal wave floods behind.
Chimps fly, swinging between structures on electric vines.
I can’t help but jump and stomp.
Fauna sprout from sixtieth story windows.
Moss grows on vehicles, swept away in a waterfall.
Buildings collapse and give way to horizon.
We all slide to watering hole festival.
While critters live loudly from either shore,
a giraffe raises its head from the middle of the river.
The giraffe chews its tongue and holds an infinite gaze
Through and past me.
A rainbow divides the peach sky, arching over a cubic pyramid.
I begin a slow,
serpentine dance with a wide hipped woman in a red Aztecan dress.
The beat picks up as she grabs my hand. I raise it overhead and give her a spin.
Sway my hips. I’ve found the groove. The world and I move in tune.
When did I get this suit?
Things start to simmer. Bare feet advance and retreat in time, stirring dust,
into which she evaporates, a seductive mist.
A turtle floats over the reflection of a candy apple hot air balloon.
…
I sit in a taxi, palm on chin, daydreaming
into my suited reflection in the backseat window. Buildings curve in the lens,
looking down at us.
A woman in a straw hat and swimsuit sunbathes by a rooftop pool,
sipping on a watermelon lemonade.
She dips her gaze over the balcony to watch the nameless current-
they’re like koi fish, tranquil, one with their nature.
They wear round pastel hats, yellow and blue,
touched by the lunch rush light.
Guiding the stream is an extravagant theater
stapled to a chic clothing store.
Buzzing now, bug eyes forward
I witness a litany of ads on the feed of flesh and cloth.
Suits that match my own grey fit
hang pressed on racks behind the store window.
Lavish mannequin sentinels watch us move like film real from the other side.
I have no choice but to enter.
Surrounded by shoes encased on pedestals, I
scratch my chin in the mirror, topped by pastel hat:
an S.O.S.
Inside the jewelry case a mouse crawls along a string of pearls,
it smells a diamond ring.
Then looks up at the mustachioed clerk,
with gelled hair parted down the middle,
wearing a sheen suit vest black, red bowtie, and immaculately pressed white sleeves.
Salvador! A tailored dummy Dali.
Framed in front of a cerulean aquarium, he’s fixated
on the chair ridden veteran panhandling outside the store.
I decided to bite.
…
Kites fly overhead as I nap in my new fit:
tank top, suspended khakis, pastel hat and sandals.
Leaves of Grass open on my chest; the cool shade of a cloud-like tree
veils me on a cloudless spring afternoon,
back on that grassy hill.
A dopey beagle pup rests its jaw on my arm.
A frisbee eclipses a candy apple hot air balloon. A passenger explores through
a telescope.
A ladybug crawls up my pant leg as the sun hugs us.
A perfect moment.
Breathe easy with the Earth, each exhale sending ripples through its soil.
Ants weave through grass spires
and crawl over roots of the great spring Maple, sublime and gentle-
painting us one point at a time.
As its brush ascends from the canvas,
the curtains close and I
return home.
Peter Volpone 