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Carlo C Gomez May 24
hand cranked
re-imagined 35mm slides
Rough Trade posters
on the wall
Pepsi and premade sandwiches
on the counter

aperture: wide open
he sees her often at the multiplex
there she flirts
from the third row; second seat
sheer blouse
hands in elliptical motion
pointing toward
silk chiffon shells
the invite in a tilt of her mouth
lip; gloss
eyes hidden from the light

a prayer before intermission
celluloid reliquary
reveals God's plans
lest her trifling with him
cause a miss in changeover
enraging his self-regarded audience
the walk back to his car
one long montage of her lacing up
Little wind in their sail.

Limited space on board.

Free from heart. Free from clothes.
Drunk together for a swim.
Errant, disinterested kiss, planted
under the keel.
A sparse ****** isosceles is struck.
Parts are muted and slit-eyed.
Parts are surface tension.
Parts are counterparts.
She pulls away, running below deck
and vigorously brushing her teeth
before weeping.
The razor of night struggles to sleep.
The sharp object thrown overboard.
No one wants to be first or last.

"We're out of words and moons and stars, there's no tenderness in us..." she said. "When did our love become the stab of ultimatum?"
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2022
Mondays in Van Nuys:
velvet morning, bee stings,
and medicating angels
wrapped in mesh,
at the scene of a fugitive motel,
swimming towards
*** and misery.

Nicotine lizard
fresh from film school,
and his molten young
with corduroy legs,
scouting for girls
any way, shape, or form,
pinpointing them
in alphabetical order.

Flashing red light means go:
pretty Eve in the tub,
lit from underneath,
she sun shines,
her back to the prehension
from a survey of hands
and power tools.

No tan lines,
the boundaries of
this celluloid garden
begin at her knees
--a fleshprint,
start the Van de Graaff
and watch as she reels
the far faded whispers
of carnal quicksand.

A smell of peroxide and sweat,
her constant freezing
and thawing
totally crushed out,
the dark don't hide it.

Candy Bar
--it's not her real name,
but she smiles like
she means it,
lying is the most fun a girl
can have without taking
her clothes off.

Once again
the week gets lost in repeat:
a certain smile,
a certain sadness,
look on the bright side,
this isn't happiness.
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2022
Black as coal.
Moth or myth?
It helps with the lights out.
And travels by thought.

Cleopatra enters Rome,
Dropping names,
Reciting pagan poetry,
Knocking on forbidden doors.

Nicole sees shadows
Of her former self
Staring back at her,
Rock paper scissors,
The color of three.

Give and take after take
On the burning soil
Of a blurred crusade.

And other assorted weapons
Form white lies and alibis,
Calibrating the dusted variations
Of a caught-on-camera obscura,
It is a dark waltz,
Some small hope still,

Yet there's a comma after still.

Louise May 2022
A line from a favorite movie of mine goes;
"Marriage isn't romantic,
that's why God invented poetry."
And I could not get it out of my mind.
So much that it kept me up for two nights.
That what if I am to become a wife,
life would be a never ending strife?
What if I can only sit still with a book,
but as soon as I am someone's woman,
I am a runaway and a crook?
What if I can only well rhyme my poems,
but affection for my husband
is something I would always owe him?
What if I am only clever with my riddles,
but fall short with my duties as a maiden?
What if I am only a good artist,
but bad in marriage?
What if I am ideal in theory,
but repulsive in practice?
What if I am a better lover,
but only in my letters?
What if only in fantasy am I a good writer,
but in reality as a foe am I better?
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2022
Tommy guns for insurance
And wads of sweaty cash
To build new empires with

But there are no guarantees
Crime, you see, doesn't pay
You can bank on it

So we already know how it ends:
They canceled his policy
And Dunaway with her
Dave Robertson Jan 2022
Some days I don’t want to leave the cinema
I sit dead centre,
hope the screen will fill my field of vision,
each speaker will cover my ears
in numbing sound
allowing thrills and broken hearts
of others’ made up tales
to supplant my own for two hours
and change

The dark holds me anonymous,
lets me depart and drift,
try on the moods in lost safety
so when credits roll
choked tears and shiny blisses
are returned, rewound, reset
for what comes next
Nigdaw Oct 2021
I miss the satisfaction
of that little lever
advancing cellulose
frame by frame
for an unseen exposure
until developer hits film
producing an image
clicked at 1/60th of a second
in time
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