i saw a film done
by one
Jean Cocteau,
called
"Blood of a Poet";
a surreal riseau
into which were woven
phrases of woe
and the pain
artists all know
who can't quite go
insane.
montage of a
journey
within, to the core
of the soul; - all
the chambers and scenes
to explore.
each camera angle
a metaphor,
framed;
each image - absurd,
with few words
to explain.
and in the end
after the
poet had bled
alone on the stage,
with his verses
all read,
the suicide could've been
mine!
as it was,
undaunted,
the audience
offered applause.
by one
Jean Cocteau,
called
"Blood of a Poet";
a surreal riseau
into which were woven
phrases of woe
and the pain
artists all know
who can't quite go
insane.
montage of a
journey
within, to the core
of the soul; - all
the chambers and scenes
to explore.
each camera angle
a metaphor,
framed;
each image - absurd,
with few words
to explain.
and in the end
after the
poet had bled
alone on the stage,
with his verses
all read,
the suicide could've been
mine!
as it was,
undaunted,
the audience
offered applause.