False Script

Frequency is at a premium.
Habitation can be witless.
Surface waters besmirch the ocean deep.

It is heavenly for the fish
with food in tanks
among their playmates.

Even the fish
in Damien Hirst's vitrines
flirtatiously swim.

Here again the black nude
lies uncovered.
Where is the scene?

This is cinemascope writ small.
Perhaps the script writer
will now willingly depart?

Eidetic

Eidetic
and it holds the memory in tow.
Far-fetched and bewildering
it floats
as the breath is taken in and out
while the steps are slow
and the eyes watch watch
that simple bird on the sycamore tree.

When will the twittering start?

   Harriet Zinnes