Crowds Surround Us

    agile¹ founderings and piecemeal² flotations.

    The crowd constitutes a gravitational field

    that slaps back at the ground， numbed³

    and maddened by ground‘s constant suckling.

    The crowd embodies⁴ a depression in fabric⁵

    more than an attraction. Its angled， arteried， fleet

    fantasias of need sway in

    a loopy， bobbing dance without strings⁶.

    It‘s this sense of movement the organism uses

    to believe in its own existence， the palpable presence

    of an intangible parade， uncertain

    planetary marches， a supernumerary of stars.

    In its mania⁷ for artifice⁸ the crowd has sewn the sky

    with these shiny extras. Embodied⁹

    adoration¹⁰， they snap the organism shut

    before tickling¹¹ it open again

    with reedy gestures. Breathe.

    The crowd‘s louche body

    clings and parts in place， an ovation¹²

    rigid¹³ and adrift， alive. It is the sea

    that sweeps the sea.

    Broom tight with inner bickering¹⁴.

    A mortal scour¹⁵. Meaning，

    how the crowd hates the crowd.

    Outwardly. It admits you or me

    as an enormous lidless eye admits glittering

    beams. Endless watching， washing us in.

    The crowd‘s object， its point，

    is always vanishing into its own mass. It is a sea

    with no concern for us， even as it scores.