Moving Picture Show
Forget the colonnades, the parlour floors decorated to arts delite
the texture of these clouds are flavourful - full of long exposures,
loose posture and sensual remedy.
I imagine them lulled by the marching of these pedestrian ants
a somber stomp, sounding less like auxillary and more like tired ol
trains pacing along the same tracks, tunneled in small proximity,
these are the gallows -- once you see the perimeter lines, you are through.
No thoughts to saddle the wonderment, there is a lonesome joy in this.
So look to the picture show, the gassy colour left from advanced invasions,
fleeing like supernova past the scope of our minds.
Let the currents make it dance, trot under the stars,
until it finds itself settled pushing off the waters in bundles...
Still, as the planes fly through, clawing towards mankind
find me seated until the last credit pulls from my eye.