1901

LIGHT

The clouds hunch over my shoulder
And it is morning,
A feeling works its way
Across the chest

Lightning over the lipstick building

I want to hear all your dreams
Especially the ones that end with light
Flooding from me as I turn to face you,
Those dreams sound cooler than movies

At the camera store they sell a wooden box
For sixty dollars, they sell pink tape
For gaffers, and a "hot bulb slave"

A honeycomb grid will focus the light
In a gradient along the subject's face

You put an object bound for eBay
In a little canvas tent
Tota Lites around the outside

The book of sample gels and filters
Goes into the system at $0.01

I like poems that end with light
Or trees, these are subjects
It is slightly tricky to complicate
(No poem whiplash there)

I hate poems that talk about poems
Gossip is for poor politicians,
Use that knowledge and pipe down, Senator

The senator is on the pipe
And for this we call him "loveable"

He is not

He is a laser beam of idiocy

Elevated to the lino deck

Where he shoots off to starboard

And bounces off a mirror

Back to the surveyor

All in an instant!