What some poem said in 31
I wish it was cancer, simple – to the point and either death or cure would deliver me without question.
I wish I could offer you that radiance, that moment.
what some poem wrote in 31.
the projectionist asleep
aisles full of faces, a thousand faces
and sorrowed malaise
the colors saturated
the film jumpy
like an old film with the tracking off
muffled vocal intonation
and a sharp disjoint from yesterday morning
where I sat with coffee and dunhill internationals
and an aspect of understanding
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 