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Hold and listen, |
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Something is missing from the celluloid; |
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Where actors, permissive, |
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Hold their positions in pixels to blur the lines between |
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The real and the scene. |
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We steal the motion from the act, |
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Picturesque in photographs; |
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Where all of my dreams suddenly to sate |
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(All the dreams that fall between the frames within a film) |
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Have we been exposed? |
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Developed for sale and show? |
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We isolate the things we can't keep our eyes from. |
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Are you so alone? |
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You're in too soon to know, |
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You fold. |
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I'll trade my youth for white lights |
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And black suits |
