This is not an exit
By Gwion
Your foot clenched artificial Mechanical speed Fighting ashphalt And defying the red Beacons of justice To buy my rebellion ticket Faux-pas Before 1:15 passed Inside The darkened media scream You groped my skin For warmth As Ellis unfolded On digital canvas As your hands traced my arms I groped your brow For Ebert Remembering a thousand words That dammed this forbidden Art I memorized every crease In Bateman's face Laughed At the horror of it You, green beside me, Searching reasons to grasp flesh I wrote analyses Of fiction As your fingers claimed Oscars of goosebumps Ellis spoke And I saw for a moment Citizen Cain The first time it rolled across my eyes The dark magnificence of it Saw months of doubt Criticism Picket lines of boycotters Women's lib You were shocked at the part with the batteries And promised to protect my breasts with your hands Memories of our absurdity Slinking out of the guilty theatre: You, shaking, Me, seeing Liam's face As he slid Literature across the table at me Thinking: It's a shame you don't read That you can't truly understand2000 (summer), Name that Book-turned-Movie. Written January 17th, 2002 © on Jan 17 2002 10:31 AM PST 0 • 10
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"Your foot clenched artificial..."