Poetry Picture Show tryptich

JUMP CUT TO:

EXT: GALAXY DRIVE-IN. NIGHT.

the tip-tilted car rears back
as if in a vision
Jacob fighting the angel
perhaps

little hills undulate
grey orderly graves
from which strange trees sprout
stranger fruit

we clamp a pair to our windows
to hear the word
from our sponsors-
the other cars stare

at the white screen
praying for a suitable interval
to grope or kiss
or use the loo

as the wide blue
dims to darkness
the better set off
the stars

CROSS FADE:

? meets Eliot Ness meets Eisenstein

divide by three carry I
point zero dream recurring
ceilings high with loft light shafts vent in
the clock bears away its crawling army of time
bears the leather skinned rhinos by
untouchable pram step by step smoke or sweat
wheels there on collapse the black eye blood
trickles out to ask the mice the strategy of goodbye

FADE UP:

Stolen

I have procured time for us
and I forget
the name of the show

I sit and watch it with you
your hair so near
the dark whorl of your ear

my body
responds to your body
insisting always

you leave and I leave
and the story goes on
without us

FADE OUT

THE END