11-28 Black and White

This cheery one was written while I was in grad school–no doubt, at home on a Saturday night when I was “funking” and home alone. Before I turned to Jesus.

Black and White

 

The screen explodes like flash bulbs

In a burnt-out room.

 

A somersaulting astronaut severed

from ancient space walk

orbits through galactic dust,

past dying suns and methane moons—

 

a fossil jettisoned on solar winds

 

until Red Eye Cinema shuts its lid.

The National Anthem, then a static Amen.

 

A big toe pushes the knob.

 

A test pattern contracts to a bright dot,

dims to a speck, shrinks into nothingness.

 

The black Cyclops winks at the viewer.

 

 

 

 

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