11-28 Black and White

This cheery one was written while I was in grad school–no doubt, at home on a Saturday night when I was “funking” and home alone. Before I turned to Jesus.

Black and White


The screen explodes like flash bulbs

In a burnt-out room.


A somersaulting astronaut severed

from ancient space walk

orbits through galactic dust,

past dying suns and methane moons—


a fossil jettisoned on solar winds


until Red Eye Cinema shuts its lid.

The National Anthem, then a static Amen.


A big toe pushes the knob.


A test pattern contracts to a bright dot,

dims to a speck, shrinks into nothingness.


The black Cyclops winks at the viewer.