a galactical movie script
projects our existence
onto the screen
of our interpretation
infusing every cherished act
with attraction, aversion and ourselves
take after take
filmic currents
as if by some direction
assembles our beings into time
synched to the flickering rhythms of starlight
editing our actions
compelled by a screenplay
created by writers
of mysterious intent
what talk of freedom
can we blather and rant
when we are so attached
to this screen's surface
and that colossal
beyond comprehension
star fire purpose
that projects us from afar
 
it is only love
with its springtime passion
sweetheart touch
and gala humor
that are the holy graces 
the unknown writers allow
 
throughout our scenes of affection
when we express
the essence of this love
the painted landscape
of this earthly hollywood moon
becomes a blazing aperture 
illuminating our closed down lenses
with the scintillating light
of the director
no more seeing upside down
illusion dissolves
into high blue laughter
where angels of truth
fade in and out of beauty
and not even death's cut is
the end
 
 

 

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