A Roll of Film

I take it back:

it was unfair to assume

that you were always in the moment–

hell, isn’t that what it’s supposed to be?

A series of moments

so we can call: “Roll tape!”

until slivers of black plastic

circle on, on

carrying us with it?

Are we all but one freaking

square on the roll, now,

that I must expect you to remain

in one essence of your human

being; flawed, whole.

“How do we make the squares?” you ask.

It’s like when we took a walk in stark sunlight

and you had kept your sunglasses on

so you stared into the bulb,

as if awaiting a past or future burst of energy–

but you realized all we have is light.

January 29, 2014


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