First Place Winner: Caleb Moss   I Picture You I picture you, in real time, not all romantic memory slow motion, or keystone cop fast forward, but in real time. Real time running, down the silent snow shrouded street, gaining just the right amount of speed, to slide, along the surface, free for the moments within momentum. I picture you, as you walk away from me, not leaving, just wandering with that perfect childlike ease. I picture you as you wrap yourself in the blue black fibers that hum the world of the in between into being. And you need to know, as we dance with the days that come and go, that baby you are the only one who can ease me gently down so low, who can sing me in lines drawn out slow, who can breathe me in and out with each breathe you blow, who can tread my head above the flow and echoes my step when its time to roll. You picture me, in time tattered winds, as I carry my satchel of souls, catering to the hands that need, to the hollow whistle of an open wind. Wind that flips the discarded paper wrappings, of consumed trappings and nattered mass yappings. You picture me with my hat pulled low, pushing pins into the balloons of conversational conventions and laughing as the stale gas leaks out with a confused hissssss. You picture me as I sit separately amidst, practicing the art of invisibility while the waves hum dumb around me in there best Red Sea rendition. And you need to know, as we dance with the days that come and go, that baby you are the only one who can ease me gently down so low, who can sing me in lines drawn out slow, who can breathe me in and out with each breathe you blow, who can tread my head above the flow and echoes my step when its time to roll. Picture we, tefloning regrets as the bubbles jet, away the pain of cramped in day. Light shifts play a timpani roll along the inside of each second finger. Fingers that ignite an eyeless flame that calls down dome roofed halls, while they joust with winter soccer balls, and he closes her eyes with kiss misted calls. Picture we as late night movie plays to our mutual dissolve, while the plastic boy nods, and names are now found for our newly crowned Gods. Picture we in live broadcast fantasy, retreating from the camera lens, wearing the very best twinkled laughter, waving, with our unattached hands, goodbye, goodbye, fare thee well. And you need to know, as we dance with the days that come and go, that baby you are the only one who can ease me gently down so low, who can sing me in lines drawn out slow, who can breathe me in and out with each breathe you blow, who can tread my head above the flow and echoes my step when its time to roll.   Back to Feb/05 Winners Home