Cuttings
A Poem
Nov 5 · 1 min read

I hold no scissors
Yet still the images fall
Piling frame by frame
About my feet.
What remains, they say,
Is the best of me:
A blank roll, the stills
Shaped by their eyes.

I hold no scissors
Yet still the images fall
Piling frame by frame
About my feet.
What remains, they say,
Is the best of me:
A blank roll, the stills
Shaped by their eyes.

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