The Cutting Room Floor

It’s hard to make it

in showbiz.

Much like the lottery,

No matter how many years

you spend toiling in development hell,

only a handful of those that play the game

see the happy ending

they dream of,

we pray for them.

Snippets, interludes, quips and storyboards

lie strewn about.

Half-baked,

deformed,

distorted,

deleted scenes

hold interstitial once deemed vital,

now unviable.

All seemed like great ideas at the time,

but quickly end up dated,

after production fumbles,

mumbles of delays

fill the air,

and stall all progress-

we pray for them.

These poor shades,

pray for a green light,

but all they find is red tape.

The business works in mysterious ways.

It’s harder for a camel

To pass through the eye of a needle

Than a rich man to enter heaven-

The higher-ups could stand to get a little thinner,

Yet they’re the ones,

Asking everyone else to cut down.

Some day,

They may see release,

Or at least the light of day,

I pray for them.

Direct-to-Video

Purgatory can be found on Earth,

In thrift stores,

bargain bins,

And supermarkets.

Names and faces,

Some famous,

Some strangers,

Etched forever into

Sequels no one asked for,

To movies no one’s heard of,

Residing in everyday

Neighborhood haunts.

Horrifically corny schlock,

Poorly-written nature docs,

For children,

And TV movies that aired once.

No one makes something,

That no one is supposed to see,

But you wonder

whether these people

are where they want to be,

When you can buy half their filmography

for five dollars

and get one for free.

But maybe this is their dream,

To do what they love doing,

Make scenes,

And be seen,

Without being heard of.

Those souls are in my thoughts

For now.

Cult-Classics

Night falls,

As Ana slides open the screen-door,

And snuck into her house with her friends,

While her parents

sleep peacefully,

Unaware of tonight’s meeting.

The following entered single file,

Approached the shelf,

gathered around,

And pored over

the needed materials.

Meticulously,

They made their selections,

Offerings that each member agreed to.

Each had their own predilections

Toward eighties ultra violence,

Black comedy,

Or pre-recorded VHS tapes,

Of since-cancelled television,

With commercial breaks,

Intact.

“Cut the lights,”

The time has come

for another sleepless night,

Sitting entranced.

Volume at near-silence,

Doors tightly shut,

Muffling cheers for the anti-hero,

Laughter and schadenfreude,

Shuffling seats,

To avoid

potential tut-tuts

Of disgruntled authority.