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To Shane Black

Fade in: He makes coffee,
Turns on the T.V. news,
Stands at the window - becomes
The blue sky, then a blade
Of sunburnt grass
Waiting to be cut.

He heads to the shower,
Water buzzes on his shoulders,
Car chases, car chases,
Cops and enforcers,
Stories and pitches
And producers, hmm...

His fresh clothes
Feel cold against his skin,
Where's the party tonight?
Where was I last night?
- Gotta get outa here.
Is that the phone? No.

He leans on the veranda
In the fog of L.A.,
A palm tree rattles
Its thronds like dry bones -
And the blank page
Stares from his screen
Waiting for the inciting incident.

Fade to: BLACK.

Note: This poems is dedicated to the scriptwriter Shane Black. His credits include "Lethal Weapon", "The Last Action Hero" and "Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang".

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