Your ticket booth
has all my money. Performance:
Oscar-worthy. You’re the painting
that I study, a thousand brush strokes
and counting. Rapid-fire
on the shutter—photograph
before it’s over—catch the tune
before they cut it, but do your speakers
ever die? Your screen is preaching colors, setting fire
to my naked eye. I’ll try my life to draw you,
but I know you’re something too alive.

Jackson Newbern