Passage to (a new kind of) Pictorial Space

the horizon looked like soft tissue
blurring into a small white line
of receding ghost
i could almost make out
your tiny eye still
polished with several layers of glossy illusion
but my view was being drained
several tentative steps at a time, by stairs leading
into an unconventional basement where
a sump pump operated just out of reach
i could hear its' electric motor running and running,
a surprisingly smooth noise flowing
directly from your tiny mouth
i could see you sitting on the supposedly progressive shore,
with body heat escaping from your classical shoulders
as you leaned ever closer to the past
and i saw a nearby rock band plug in their amplifiers
Freddy Mercury was on the Queen stage,
having brought along with him a new kind of leading edge,
previously unpainted and unsung
you must have cared, for you tried to turn down the volume!
and after the show, i watched your arms grow weary trying to fill the
empty seats where the audience once sat,
but no amount of your paint would change the world
you acted surprised, and when your eyes grew larger, i thought there might be hope
i wanted you closer, after all
please don't put things into perspective:
it would only fool my eye into believing something that is not there.