Tuesday, March 20, 2012



We sit for the photo wetting our lips
you, eyes cast up in that way
you have, me forgetting to lower my

chin, dreading the soul draining
flash, turning my head to the left when I
hear right, captured nose to ear

in the dream I had last night, the final
scene in a strange film cut
by brooding chimps with racing minds in tire

swings, inspired perhaps by
a young woman framing a shot on the
street, my guess a student, hunched

and shrouded, man-handling her bulky big
box camera, sturdy tripod throwing
a water tower shadow.

A lot of trouble to go through for one
lousy picture, planted there,
a rock in a torrent of camera’s

all light as smoke, pretense thin,
sly viruses mutating in happy
hosts infecting each other

for posterity, stepping outside each
moment, half-life proof it had
not been one long inexplicable dream.

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