by Peter Myers
Barack Obama is a concept
The eye in the pyramid on the dollar bill, gazing, all-knowing and watching limestone melt as time whips fires of dust
Photo Manipulation by the Hermes
Barack Obama is a voice
Double-tracked, one that speaks words of wisdom in both your ears at once, in stereo
Barack Obama is the voice
in the back of your head that tells you to get up every morning, to turn off the water in your shower even though it’s cold outside and the curtained steam makes you feel warm, maybe even safe
Barack Obama is standing in line on July 21st, 2007, with a plastic wand and jet black wizard’s cap pulled snugly around his ears
Barack Obama is the photo of the sailor and the woman, an everlasting window into a subset of decaying time, one we thought we’d always know; the new America in retrospect
Barack Obama is what we saw twinkling at the edges of consciousness behind our eyelids when we squinted at the sun during an eclipse
Barack Obama landed a plane packed with three hundred million smiling faces on the Hudson, and gave the oath of office as the icy water pooled slowly around his ankles
The idea and the man can do nothing but slowly slide closer until the distinctions drift off: regression. Two slip into each other, twisting strings of DNA and rhetoric, verb arrangements and policy debates becoming one until hijacked angels crash into the river
