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Rated: · Poetry · Arts · #1640781
A poem for the edit room.
Trim. Cut. Edit. Splice.
Fingers dance to make it nice.
Send the signal through the ground.
Capture. Render. Shut it down.
Hurry up! The TV screams.
Popping, popping, snowy scenes.
Buttons on remote control
Shoot alive like whack-a-mole.
Screen goes black, and by the light
An accent mark of sluggish white.
Go back. Previous. Last. Recall.
If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.
Smash the glass, roll the dice.
Trim. Cut. Edit. Splice.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1640781-Action