Ones and zeros lost in the hexa tens. Beauty and grace hidden in broken mirrors. There is a tune that that is silently played and only the keen ears can pick up it’s sound. There is a bright sun above the thick nimbus but only the hopeful can feel its warmth.
I take steps back and read the name, I’ve forgotten the mirrors, the silver sheet.
The greens are sour but the greens are sweet. Who knows what to think?
Script writers quit and leave the movie undone, no scores to entertain, no rhythm in their sound. Are the opening the closing credits? Are the actors on a string or did they get lost in their acting?
I look at the mirror again. The broken glass. I cannot decipher it.