>pop song > painting

>improperly framed
the transparent glass pane
brushes against its own infertility
the director’s proclivity for
carnassial misdirection

into the soft sand

beneath Pfeiffer Beach

with a waterworn wand
the director writes the word

“SOUNDTRACK”

black shot
fingers sever
black shot

whispers, twice from her
once from her consort, leading
her hands cross.
she is not guarded.
she hides nothing.
you must listen

the director is pleased
tells her, “There is nothing
that needs to change.”

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