the music, muffled in ancient recordings
made last tuesday
and films burned and faded in acid from my camera
shot two weeks ago
then i stepped in the inks
and the spills of celluloid in bakalite cases decaying:
we reached for no multi-dimensional hyper-space
no over-diversified light spectrums,
no thousand-pegged color wheels
or spinning deals:
we clung only to the second-nature beating of a heart
mechanical or shrivled
because we wanted our voices hushed!
like a wax cylinder———————-
because we wanted our faces scratched!
like silver gelatin—————
because we wanted our words uneven!
like linotypes——
(dying-dying-dying)
Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 