film

car parked idle. soft palms and fogged up glass

like texarkana phantom

he says. and death looms wicked over

every teenage shoulder

it makes foreheads drip and bodies

convulse with

something more human than desire

fear and

loathing in this san francisco cinema

always fancied himself something

belonging to the silver screen. sad, but

life will never drip as sweet as

he hopes and

bond girls, jaded detectives

never really exit hollywood

teen-boy and despondent dove-girl

they’ll let the fear of end consume them and

perspire on the october windows

over the golden gate fog clings and

it’ll always be a little

too late