Celluloid Life

Old film with a camera.

Photo courtesy of Muhammad Haikal Sjukri/unsplash.com

I watch my handiwork 
on a flickering screen,  
wondering 
if this life 
will cause a thrill 
at Cannes 
among the cool auteurs 
in tans and sunglasses 
or  
be cruelly panned 
by the unmoved multitude 
 
This life slithers by, reel to real 
punctuated 
by jumpy cuts  
and anguished close-ups 
 
The Wednesday morning table 
rolls past the projector’s eye 
blues song words that dance 
grace the soundtrack 
of the hour 
 
The invisible audience  
in some distant theater 
applauds and cheers, yet still,  
I stifle an urge 
to leave this year 
on my cutting room floor.  
 
Slowly,  
with unsteady hands 
I unravel the celluloid skeins 
of this life 
they tangle my helpless limbs 
like spider webs 
and I feel like 
a struggling six-limbed meal 
 
but calm prevails 
as I watch 
the grit, the grain on the screen 
as the shadowy figure 
played by me 
hurtles toward the dreaded words 
“The End.” 


Issues |Art|Lifestyle

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