Courtesy dictates that the student
director must exact a finger
in praise of the superb jacuzzi
when framing a ***** shot
in starkly black and white
and idyllic plastery chinatown
kneedeep in mud
where the damask and incense
induces migraines
and mighty conniptions of the eye
and feverish lines delivered in heat.

Curating a medicine cabinet requires just such courtesy, such exactitude,
a rare emotional alignment
with Thomas Edison and Madmen,
a dogged belief in the usefulness
of ordinary things.

Rows of postscripts wash the gullies of summer;
a bare midriff, sequined and tenuous,  
tambourine in a leaden hand.

Suddenly, there begins a litany of paramilliary slogans,
missives of misshaps,
signs of intellectualism of totemic significance.

Truly, one of the darker days of my professional career.

Starting clean from tabula rasa,
incipient limbs and vertiginous ends:
My dynamo in the desert,
My czarist project, dam
Of reclamation, in hopes that the savannah answers
With canted bridges and rutted roads,
asphalt rings mellifluous.

There shantytowns of autosuggestion - gestating, growing,
searches for a prophesy of sedentary bleakness,
staying a vaporous mirage.