scaling 35

mm bedrooms that

wobble film marks and

age absurdists who

cannot know what hit when a

short film called bop scotch

means more than their whole

lives bop scotch they speak this is

our transfer crawling

down escalators

bearing no mark on their pride

it is scaling up

when their work retreats

on defeat masked diffidence

where it is easy

to lie the film is

macarthur the 1:15

train passing through and

it is me and i

know that know that stop waving

that noise the film will

last 35 years

each for its mm

who understands that

and let us settle

in dark rooms where they too run

miles of stairs through the

galaxy so close

but I land on everest

down escalators

never trying to

walk up never putting my

work out there never

hitting jupiter

and so close it is almost

our stop that of out

dated artists one

million people get off

the film still playing

through the side of the

window in the tunnel post

millbrae the chip in

its metal swimming

underground poets chipping

away wavering

windows once wearing

all artistic time the film

hits the top of the

escalators this

our transfer one million

outdated artists

get off in the late

modernist wasteland of

t.s eliot's

reference and i

hit the bottom so close so

close so close so close

so