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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.