By Elise Paschen
Lily Gladstone confides she wore my great
grandmother Eliza’s blankets in three scenes.
I don’t remember…
grandmother Eliza’s blankets in three scenes.
I don’t remember…
Explore Poems: Photography & Film
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- By Douglas KearneyWas Him, once fini, on the beams,
prior, He's hewer of thorntree.
Could stretch tilapia and ewer,
dole … - By Major JacksonThe screen's fabrications remain. A film
shot never fails, sailing through the century
like a black V … - By Jean ValentineHe was shoveling sand
at the edge of the water, his heavy black glasses
glittered with rain:
"Don't you… - By Langston HughesThe Roosevelt, Renaissance, Gem, Alhambra:
Harlem laughing in all the wrong places
at the crocodile … - By Louise ErdrichAugust and the drive-in picture is packed.
We lounge on the hood of the Pontiac
surrounded by the slow… - By Josh BellKung-Fu, a couch, and I might reach
emptiness tonight, stuck on that Midwest
hoo-doo, counting cemetery… - By Michael PalmerI know a silent movie star named Jane.
She speaks without moving her lips.
She once starred in a film … - By Robert HaydenAt Dunbar, Castle or Arcade
we rode with the exotic sheik
through deserts of erotic flowers;
held in the… - By Timothy DonnellyAnd though we had fed long and well at the table
the talk always turned to whether to go on
regardless… - By Rita Dovelate, in aqua and ermine, gardenias
scaling her left sleeve in a spasm of scent,
her gloves white, her… - By Mike DoughtyHe was jailed for cruelty to insects, and his agent wasn’t answering the phone, so he stayed awake in…
- By John MurilloFor me, the movie starts with a black man
Leaping into an orbit of badges, tiny moons
Catching the … - By Paisley RekdalHow horrible it is, how horrible
that Cronenberg film where Goldblum’s trapped
with a fly inside his… - By David RoderickI wear a flower in my lapel.
I like the sweetness of its lie in my nose.
A carnation, the fool’s flower… - By Chase Twichell“You can’t kiss a movie,” Jean-Luc Godard said, and this is mostly true, in that you cannot initiate…
- By Sally Wen MaoIt is natural to live in an era
when no one uttered––
and silence was glamour
so I could cast one glance… - By Amy ClampittThe lit night glares like a day-glo strawberry,
the stakeout car beside the hydrant is full of feds,… - By Holly Mitchell1.
After the beginning of the gallop, there are counts when the horse is in the air, her
legs withdrawn… - By Lynn EmanuelLove is boring and passé, all that old baggage,
the bloody bric-a-brac, the bad, the gothic,
retrograde…