Night at the Cinema


Thin sliver of moon


By darkness in the misty


Three figures alight

By folly

Upon a somber cinema

Silent, yawning for want of bodies

And the horror-film trailers

Played to no screams


No unwavering modes of perception

The three remade themselves

While being subjected to a remake most foul

The adolescent selves

Snickered and giggled and cackled

Most plainly

Abdomens taut from laugh-tightened heaves

Throats hoarse

The ravens of film critique

Heralding the death of celluloid visions that failed to animate anyway

Sadness sank in

Collective awareness of the squandered cash

Then in the midnight hour

A rain-soaked dash through the wizened streets

Asphalt tracks


With glowing yellow strips

Of autumnal warmth

Laughter reignites

Over recollections of the trite, inept, half-baked,

Threadbare script and performances

While rehearsal begrudgingly gets underway

For the ritual beheading of joy

Known as

Monday mourning


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