Untitled

About last summer...

I was born and raised on a
summer's evening by the
lights of the cinema. Dripping in sweat
I fell from the dark, the
crushing heat of my mother's womb
into the crook of a boyish arm--
    I shook off a heavy hand.
Tore away at a binding cord for the
freedom and enslavement, the
beguiling absurdity, the picture, the light,
the trance and dream and lips pressed on mine.
For the distance too near and too far.
She called after me
a name I hardly know.