Where does sound go & when does it stop?
[Note to self: research this]
I saw a boy with his hands
torn off – a still, on impact.
The next shot is a girl
opened wide; the mouth,
the eyes call –
.
The moment solidifies, is
livid, remains what it is
in the grave, dead but
living.
I fold at the crisis,
the crossroads, not up
to it, unused to.
If I’m drowned, snuffed-out
anyhow; abused, bum-
rushed off the stage,
I remain –
a boy that wants of course
joy, love.
Thanks Dean
Stickam? I’m about to look it up
maybe it shouldn’t but this reminds me, recalls, i mean, stickam…it the reference is too obscure, that’s good!