Cinematic Synapses
by Anne Marie Higgins

Pushing its wheels,
Churning a film for a private screening.
The frames form to the hot metal melting into view.
Images out of focus forcing their fingers upon the white wall.
Sounds skipping scenes, free from the formation of mouths.
A constant double billing without intermission nor dancing popcorn promised in the preview.
I take my critic's ticket to catch a love story, but it's the same horror film as before.

I should know it very well by now,
Having run the projector myself.
I scramble to a seat before the credits catch fire,
My name unbilled.
The seat is worn, warm, Comfortable.

Copyright ©2001 Anne Marie Higgins