Fortunately my current videopoem project is going much more smoothly than the one depicted in this poem. Don’t hire crazy people, the moral of the story I guess. It can be hard to tell though; sociopaths are often charming and erudite.
After enduring a gestation period
of eighteen months
and several bouts of incommunicado-ness
she dutifully reports to the clay eater’s
rat’s nest to defend her lump of art
before he nibbled away all the footage.
She sings his praises, pretending
the indiscriminate cravings
and grinding teeth do not exist,
do not wear her down.
Meth-heads don’t generate, they spin
scratched vinyl, shoot blankly,
regurgitate turbulence, gnaw and brew
dandelion wine because it’s free,
free as roadside blackberries
and meadows of psilocybin.
Pirate of his own ship-
bachelor pad bouncy house-
sleeping in a pocket on the floor,
close to the cache
when he isn’t busy
Under the red toque
a mind’s eye so muddied
it can see nothing
Bloodied images, frames, shots
Recreate. Rework. Repeat.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
With no redress, no kind release,
she seriously considers murder.