i will never run on flat feet
Anna Karina is kissing some boy.
colors tint and
all throughout I hear the sounds of typing.
strips of transparent film
and collapsing dialog expose
the absence of the director.
feeling the shock of the air.
cardigans—fuzzy orange and
Peter Pan collars.
freckles, not measles.
going down in the elevator.
lip-synching at the cinema.
the recipient of bell-bottoms
it’s raining t-shirts and female leads.
idolize this worship—oh, wise counsel,
slaughter my crime.
you separate the thought of teaching elders how to win a prize,
from the act of laughing.
you favor the company of sharp sounds, distinct.
the floor of your lake is a sculpture
of animated rockets.
pounce box—the great advocate.
cords are threaded
and double up
as we pull off pranks, piercing.
your double vision is color-blocked,
moss green and amethyst,
from perfected expansion—
out West. perforated gray skies,
clouds in the shape of summer,
drive-bys at dollar stores,
kidnap pirated joy. gather round,
fake it fast and bright.
gilded attitude adorns obedient skulls.