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He wanted to dream in fugues,

an escape velocity from loneliness

set to a motion-picture-worthy soundtrack.

Do those who can’t act, direct?

Take 27!, snap of the clapperboard

but still synchronization slipped

away, fleeting, morphing.

His lines were perfect,

or, just as written,

but his role a complete

cliche, yet another grape

on the vine, destined

for raisinhood.

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