I go into the very slush pile of words plucking poems in a recent movie. Boy and girl kiss in squishy mud as in circus feat high on the roof. We yawn into this slushy movie.
A kiss takes place in stark mud. It was high like simile’s circus, one attempted in the top of tent. All the while the tent is a sketchy sky with its hole , a chink letting in starlight.
Tent is very rope bridge balancing history of the country with movie going love. Bridge undulates like terrain, like waters about a head in river.
A bridge is like a sword that swells to feed army to free the country. My word comes out of a slush pile ,a poem for the day from a night.
(after watching a movie “Rangoon)