FreezeRay:  Poetry With A Pop
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Eva Azenaro Acero

                                                          THE OWLS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM

here is a scenario. it is 1991 and you are sporting short dark hair and paint-splattered jeans. you are 
curled up on a couch and you are watching 51,201 people in the form of 71 townspeople stare 
meaningfully at each other across specks of light (red rooms zigzags wide eyes soap opera music 
hold on tight). an fbi agent is smiling at the camera. you are smiling back.

(this is how i imagine it, anyways. this is how i imagine many things concerning you.)

(let’s try again.)

it is 2014 and i am hiding under my desk. i am holding a television in my hand and i am watching a smiling man tell me meaningful things while a log cabin burns behind him.

(metaphorically, of course.)

 i am watching him but i am also beside you and we are sharing potato chips made from dangerous 
legal chemicals and we are laughing at how whittling is common in a town where a yellow light still 
means slow down, not go faster.

there are so many bodies and so few personalities hold on to my hand through these telephone 
lines. whisper your suspicions into my tired ear (and i will whisper: my arms are bending back! back! back!)

(how on earth did people ever see this?)

i am suspended in a timeless double mountain and you are floating in the thin air some ten feet 
away. (fire walk with me don’t let me slow my pace.) i am burning but my lungs are frozen in my 
chest. this must be what art feels like.


Eva Azenaro Acero is an illustrator, writer, and ardent feminist based in Chicago; utilizing a variety of mediums and inspirations, her work explores the unusual and obscure, often at equally odd hours.
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