next slide

Slide Show

The projector hunkered on haunches

straining its power cord leash

mesmerized by the cone of dust motes

bombarding the silver screen

so out of place on the implied

divide between living room and dinette

a practiced nonchalance

about its balletic tripod pose

jarring the four-square house

where we sat drugged by white noise

wash from the cooling fan

bulb hotter than a thousand suns

our faces aglow in ground 

zero glare shadow puppets

in the lull between slide trays

boxcars crammed with evidence

placing us at the scene 
framed for old crimes 

then slotted to wait
for the return carriage

our moment in the sun

light from long dead stars

passing through us slightly

out of focus in this darkened room.