Thursday, December 5, 2019


O the miraculous utility 
of cigarettes 
and mellow jazz 

music, of bourbon 
splashed over perfect 
cubes of ice,

of tight jeans, terse bible 
passages, and black
mirrored sunglasses—

it's the little things 
like that—tiny touches,
mini mercies—

which make 
every scene shot 
look cooler, feel hotter: 

him and her 
wounding each other 
with a vengeance 

which neither one owns 
over the custody of 
some common-law MacGuffin;

that TNT look of hers 
tunneling through him, 
blasting off chunks;

him getting-off 
on walking away from it all 
feeling lighter, looking thinner;

both of them ignoring 
the scars for a while, then 
playing them up 

for laughs—until 
eventually, the entire cast 
comes to despise 

the puritanical thought 
of having to act this 
out forever.