Friday, November 16, 2012

Poem: The Bad Movie

By Jack Brummet

I can't believe it's still running.
There's miles of bad footage to come.
This loge seat is a throne of pain.

It's a talkie, but no one says anything.
There is no music, no sound design,
Only the projector clicking.

We can't stop watching.
The camera careens drunkenly
Around what might be the action.

It's so murky,
It could be pornography,
Or footage of an alien or Sasquatch.

The camera dollies in
On a random piece of litter.
Someone fiddles with the lens

And the scene shifts into deep focus.
We can't
Stop watching.

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