|
|
||
LIPSYNCING THE CITY Jim Daniels |
Even God doesn't have a script. Exhausted mimes holding up imaginary walls finally collapse. Relief clowns sent in with paint guns. Videogame that, mother fucker. The empty calories of lighted squares. The naked model posed into submission. The naked model whose lust became rust. The idiot savant misspells fear. Imagine awakening to light impossibly pure radiating the heat of the true believer. Rain obediently sluicing off a roof into drain pipes to baptize disbelief itself. Imagine returning home from far away to look up at the light and recognize the imposter.
__ This poem came out of its epigraph, this eerie notion of photoshopping a city to make it look more alive. If only it was that easy. |