The Word Is "Tomorrow"

To watch a movie seems to me a form of rape,
as someone else's values gets coated in currency
and violence and the winner's circle of choices,
while fishes carry visions on their finned backs,
and assault me at night with the incomprehensible
foreigness of their mission, yet I know it's me,
my path, my old deer trail through the woods
to the glory. Sure, we only ever dream ourselves.

Still, it was in a movie theater they showed us all
a doctor's office vision of the beating embryo,
to a newly married couple, and I got it, the point,
the sledgehammer of what tomorrow means,
a single tomorrow beating in its new veins,
the one tomorrow that would last me years,
and how tomorrows only come in handfulls,
falling into our lives big as concrete pylons.