| General Poetry
posted May 14, 2016 |
14 May Potlach - Films
Old time movies
Celluloid see-throughs
reeling in our fantasies
like trout on the fly.
We sit there gormless,
hearing the whirring machine,
then it slips the spool.
All now unravels,
dreams in swirls upon the floor
as the lights go out.
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