There's more inside then entangled lines of celluloid
more memories than moments marked on screen
yet the reel takes up so much real
and I loose myself in perfected illusion
living in replaying some one else's story

So simple
to allow direction to consume
artificial lighting swallows the sun
and another tale becomes my path
stagnant motion between couch and glass
my day not governed by the hand of God
but by the taped vision of another mortal

My days become scenes
afternoons, matinees
evenings, bargain nights

I produce absence
my control I've left remote
as I wait for the lights to come up
and existence to wrap

December 16, 2002
Tressa Lee Breen

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for taking the time not only to read but to write!