-->
in and out of
the dark
my wife likes
movie houses, the popcorn and soft drinks, the
settling into
seats, she finds a child's delight in
this and I am
happy for her---but really, I myself, I must have
come from
another place, I must have been a mole in another
life, something
that burrowed and hid alone:
the other
people crowded in the seats, near and far, give me
feelings that I
dislike; it's stupid, maybe, but there it
is; and then
there's the
darkness and then the
giant human
faces, bodies, that move about on the screen, they
speak and we
listen.
of one hundred
movies there's one that's fair, one that's good
and ninety
eight that are very bad.
most movies
start badly and steadily
get worse;
if you can
believe the actions and speech of
the characters
you might even
believe that the popcorn you chew also
has a meaning
of
sorts.
(well, it might
be that people see so many movies
that when they
finally see one not
so bad as the
others, they think it's
great. an
Academy Award means that you don't stink
quite as much
as your cousin.)
the movie ends
and we are out in the street, moving
toward the car;
"well," says my wife, "it wasn't as
good as
they say."
"no,"
I say, "it wasn't."
"there
were a few good parts, though," she replies.
"yeah,"
I answer.
we are at the
car, get in, then I am driving us out
of that part of
town; we look around at the night;
the night looks
good.
"you
hungry?" she asks.
"yes.
you?"
we stop at a
signal; I watch the red light;
I could eat
that red light---anything, anything at
all to fill the
void; millions of dollars spent to create
something more
terrible then the actual lives of
most living
things; one should never have to pay an
admission to
hell.
the light
changes and we escape,
forward
[from The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992), Black Sparrow Press
Posts
