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Poetry

Paul Mazursky, director (1982)

Kalibanos welcomes you to his comfy cave,
and if the Sony Trinitron proves defective
so too does the illusion that you had slipped free
from the world and its ubiquitous corruptions,
that you could simply say you would no longer play
the soul-eroding role of mute, complicit slave.

Many frames will roll revealing what lit form your
future may attain, but the storm will not relent.
You must know that. Evasion serves for a season,
but you will be obliged—even in the midst of
every good intention, every effort at late
reconciliation—to seize the goat, to raise
the knife, to make the necessary sacrifice.


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