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Studio System
A moment before the gun fires
the only glint in the eye is the gun's reflection: liquid silver, and the only thing reflecting in the gun's metal is cowardice. Behind the eye, within the folds of cortexes and passage ways, a movie plays called "Flash." I am its sole viewer, no hollywood for me because I am gutless; I can't stick it out to sell my life to a producer, but if the studio system were still in existence launching stars to fame, that would be reason enough to stick around. Thank God for the gift of choice. © 2014 Nicholas Emeigh |
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Part of the group "Record-A-Poem," and part of the Playlist "The Poetry of Nicholas Emeigh" which includes 40+ other poems.
Notes: This poem was written on Saturday, January 19, 2014.
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