Birdman Dream Poem

The same focus saving man is killing me.
The efficiency and industry
That puts families on Venus,
Refuses to grant me just one little thing.
There’s never enough spare momentsin the day,
Stimulants and schedulers maximize activity,
With every hour billable,
Or mapped out,
Or mandated somehow,
And sure, the latest most creative tales entertain our rests,
But I don’t want to dream
A new studio’s remake
Of an old studio’s remake,
Without knowing the original.
I’ve tried to make time, will it, force it,
I carry it to work, and steal glances:
Frames here, seconds there,
Minutes if I sneak off at festival.

I’m nearly through Birdman,
And I want to see how it ends before I die,
Or before another retelling,
Or reimagining,
Or revisiting of the story,
Is all everyone can dream about.
I’ve never been so angry,
That we learned to work so well together.