Slow Film

April 16 2012

I'm a detail man.
Like a nervous tic,

obsessive

distracting.

I watch movies eagle-eyed,
pounce on anachronism
continuity lapses.
A gladiator
with a wristwatch,
a chair
there, and gone.

I study pictures
with forensic intensity,

look past the glad-hands
complicit smiles,

as some quirk in the fringes

arrests my eye.

I use slow film

so the action may blur

but depth of field is preserved,

a universe

of backgrounds.

It’s surprising

the reality I construct

connecting the dots, drawing lines.

Because the big picture

is mostly empty space.

The real truth

is in concealment, evasion

the details, marginalia

that mistakenly

slip through.

So if I seem absent-minded

  —  walking into street signs, tripping over furniture  —

please forgive my clumsiness.

It’s all in the details,

not what I missed.