Plato at the Pictures

1 August 2012

For the briefest of moments,
a glimmering sketch,

I incline my right cheekbone
one degree, untransfixed

by the knowledge of him,
the frame of his arm,

his crumpled penumbra,
a whisker perhaps.

As much in character
as anything else, I ask

my new buddy, the vague
auditorium, the rippling,

piercing green exit
signs: So what’s the Idea

of a Schwarzenegger,
ploughmen’s arts not of earth
?

Dialogue strays, indisposed for a punchline.
Woah, honeyed Silver. We rise before the titles.

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