Poetry · Writing

‘What’s going on?’

I stare at it.

The last thing that was said in a script

torn in half-

ending at a time where the folded

paper fell end-less-ly.

The scenes wrote themselves

interactions, development,

romantic – entanglement

down the middle

breaking ties with visions of a big screen debut-

down for the count

stout and a pint

words of salvage

picked back up

tape and elbow grease

and work.

The script is worth it-

never seen a work of art

this real and authentic

with connection that you wouldn’t

understand unless you stood under

the sun questioning


What’s going on?

nothing right now-

silence and absence

questioning why

in an abandon warehouse watching the stars hoping for a flicker of communication.

balance is the key-

the text on the fortune cookie

a scale in one and a blade in another

nothing right now-

only to repair the same story

with the ending it deserves.

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