Voice bursting through the speakers like a motorway
Your Norma-Jean-Smirk
Lips the red of speeding buses
I turn towards you like an Einstein,
Hair perfectly mad
Well, a Boris Karloff playing Einstein dressed in a tutu
The cinema with its penetrating darts of silk;
Forces the image of an actor to dance upon your cheek
My eyes smother your face as if it were an epic
You shake off the stare with a shrug
But I am watching you for the very first time
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Human consciousness is not linear; it is marred by thoughts, surrendered to by guilt, subject to ecstasy and fueled by selfish compulsion. Shouldn't a piece of literature be the same?
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