Do Screens Remember Stories?
the black ships grew
tall blue sails (it's a story,
it's a skin game),
midnight shining
through teeth, a blue
photo in the real world –
beneath the violence
of bodies, the perfect
celluloid ceiling: smell
of mercy from the back
row, collapse of distance
between meat and light –
so you imagine
an anchoring
in a precarious
universe, a pretty
limbo, arms of night
ships trading places in
the rain, then something flies
at you (noise of tunnels,
sargasso waste and dead
weather): your tethered
dark, brackish panic,
rags chopping
the air
the black ships grew
tall blue sails (it's a story,
it's a skin game),
midnight shining
through teeth, a blue
photo in the real world –
beneath the violence
of bodies, the perfect
celluloid ceiling: smell
of mercy from the back
row, collapse of distance
between meat and light –
so you imagine
an anchoring
in a precarious
universe, a pretty
limbo, arms of night
ships trading places in
the rain, then something flies
at you (noise of tunnels,
sargasso waste and dead
weather): your tethered
dark, brackish panic,
rags chopping
the air