Our Own Film Fest Poem by RIC BASTASA

after
that you are supposed to
puff some
smoke in the air
to the ceiling

it is not worth
the talk
it is that which
is better
when done

in the story
i rise from bed
and put on
my body
like a pair of
pants
after
the underwear
which was lost
somewhere in the
silent
corner

and you are
left alone
wondering if there
is another day
to begin
with

i follow the
way one must close a door
not to
insult it with
a creaking sound
of
humiliation

but all these are nothing
but imagination
and just between us
who never wish
to be blind but have in fact
become
blinded by what we
are not


life is like that
and we follow the script
to be faithful
to the one who suffered
enough
to write it
beautifully
as though it were
his last