When scaffolds collapsed and wet columns cracked in the hastily built palace of cinema by the bay, it's said the dictator's wife clapped her hands and ordered more concrete poured, rather than lose time extricating the half- buried bodies of workers. A nightmarish kind of continuous, unscripted action and unrepeatable dialogue: reel, as in cylinder on which film or wire loops into itself until the sprockets break. Or sway, teetering from shock— for instance, from an amputated limb. Where fingers and toes poked out of the hardened mortar: more frosting layers. When the sun drops fiery velvet drapes across the water, newspaper boys and peanut vendors pedaling past swear they can hear diegetic sounds issuing from that story-world: moans and weeping with no faces, eyes.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.