Chris Caruso

On The Physics Of The Disproved

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There is a certain beauty to the desolation of a sea in nightlight. So much like Schrödinger’s Cat, an uncertainty. The waves are moving to a song, or are they collapsing to the floor? Either one haunting the fish below. This is the problem with action and reaction. This is the struggle.

 

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    I imagine your voice over your voice. So that there are two worlds layered. If memory were accurate then this would be much clearer. Instead let us pick the dialog we use and hear, to keep that gap ever-present. A cushion of doubts which make formidable shells.

 

Here under the door is a letter on scraps of a brown paper bag. It is a language in crayon and we read  much differently. 

 

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Sketches Etched Upon

 

How often must one come to ghosts found in the dusty corners never touched, or upon the graves of those who wish not to be forgotten.

 

 

 

This does not even consider the fragility of landscape and how unlike a camera our memories are ever so shifting and eroding into entropy. 

 

 

 

This is the art two lovers see as beauty.