In the ripple of an arm I mime the future: The stars are our highway. I twist appropriately to angle like a nacelle And surf the caps of engineer's wet dreams. As silent as the void I now mime, My imitation so clear, Rarotonga was green. Still as the mill pond, waiting to fall to the grind, Turning so solid for flour, forge and star-base. In this story I lie and lean against a transparent force-field: Magnetic, disruptive, phased and transported.
Marcel Marceau, French mime artist, was born today in 1923.