Turner Classic Movies Summer Nap

While Listening to George Sanders’ Unending Voice

Meaninglessly rolling out like layers of exquisite artificial
cinematic fog, voices loll and troll about for trouble:
seek a marriage with the density of late July: two sly
psychic weather systems of offense, defense –
too reprehensible to stand alone: one, the soul of mundane
melodrama: black-and-white B-movie sinister; one,
a Technicolor-garish pisser prone to cheap effects –

coyly cultivating fleeting glimpses, gasps of wink-wink
fake-it sex: quickly followed by disgruntlement at being had:
enough to make the larger creature of you sad,
and yet – the quirky circus entertains: distracts you from
an utter lack: how long since your libido’s stained you? –
when had it last waned like this? – you can’t imagine anyone
you’d like to kiss. Something else is brewing underneath

this slick and silly surface – who knows, by letting go
of any hunger for a purpose, you might just enjoy the show:
discover something fascinating in its glow. Or maybe not.
Watch your looping and internal fog fox trot with hot
but not quite pornographic summer. Attend their bummer
of a wedding. After they have honeymooned, slip into
their discarded bedding, and breathe deep. You’ll sleep.

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