Celluloid Daydream

For the past I pray in the tumorous night gone heavy and long, Churning in the chirp of the tree frog’s soporific song. The air thickens like cream churned thicker into butter, Spinning in the muttered fumes of mind’s fogged clutter. Coagulating light into an onyx-colored yet broken stone, A celluloid flash of silver shines sight into solid bone. From the peek-a-boo split of an aperture’s peeping pupil, Pours an undeveloped pity in a dope’s pathetic scruple. I seek episodic hippocampus Netflix films inside me, For memory is better than that which my eyes will ever see.