--- M A R K   P A R S O N S

The pause mechanism on my VCR
having run out of the time allotted
to view any single frame
before being left with the electric blue
not unlike the environment
a certain rock star-turned-actor
had to speak his lines and gesture against
the animated interior of a barn    
where, thighs parallel to the hay-sprinkled floor,
ass jutting out to catch
the falling back of loosened snow
before shaking it off, he looked over his shoulder
not at me yanking the pin-striped mattress
from under her whom I didn't want, sleepy
as I was, my later resonance
a vulgar impossibility,
much less theses present precious tintinnabulations,
remembering the quote that rear-ended me
(I recall it now) while I watched you
unwrap your sandwich in the sun
to bite at the marketing ploy known as
half-a-footlong and set it down on the concrete.