The Final Cut

i look at it calmly.
the eyes are pleading,
the fear twitching at the nerve-
ends. voiceless faceless howl,
and a floating thought: how
long until i wring your
neck?

it reflects me back and
projects itself in fast-motion,
dancing one last dance for
the backturned director
gone bankrupt and plagued
by mismatched metaphors.
see?

i watch the unrolling
days of a past recognizably
mine, the narrative i
never wanted solidified
into one last plea for
life, a precocious
liturgy.

i look at it long.
someone has to cave.