MGM lighting,
soft, and time glows on —
see them dance,
see them cry,
California dreaming people…
it’s a take… here we go,
there we’ve been,
Hollywood dreams us.
night slept by,
the moon and the stars
have all clocked out…
we’re alone and
sleeping time’s for keeping.
pony gal,
let’s not waste
the night sleeping.
poetryandpoet 
humm. almost to where? this is kind of an imagist poem or maybe, really, a ‘song-let’. it’s an impression of a feeling evoked by the creative institution called MGM. it’s like a haiku thing, maybe.
taking this further might turn it into porn. so, I’m like the p-story’s director George Cukor here. trying to bring out the capability of the light inside a lightless place… Studio light.
so, the title declares the space and also defines what doesn’t go in that space, no? so, this is about the creation of magic mood and seeing the lighting as also an actor in the film.
it’s really that i’m talking about how our writing style works our poetry the way artifice works anything we appreciate.with sounds and rhythms we smooth or rough up passages to push and pull.
we live in illusion but cut our hand on reality. the writer is illusioning reality, the way a band makes time stand still inside the song. writing is always having fun with words, even if writing drags you into depression. like, the fact that there’s a ‘gal’ in this should be a clue to my intentions. I’d never in real life use a guy or gal like the voice in the piece does. but, I love watching these old movies… watching the actors pretend and the director define and the production tools and personnel parent. and, watching my warm feelings accept everything as natural and magic.