Oliver Sachs

These visions like present tense dreams, forgotten and hazy as they happen:

Sitting speechless, looking away, a face tremulous and raging indigo. The bus riders' eyes bulging in unison. The spine of a fish, laid out in two dimensions, outlined in neon yellow, weeping softly behind the plate of glass. We are all waiting for the concluding statement, the one that makes sense of all of this. We do not realize that this, too, has already passed:

"Pterodactyl."
"Pterodactyl."
"Pterodactyl!"
MWAW.

And we are matter. We are compacted energy. And we are matter, mattering.