Suspended Animation
Alexandra Isacson

Many floors up
I slip into
Ingmar Bergman
black and white.

Cigarette smoke rises
spills out and hangs before
the alcohol breathed
flickering Existentialist screen.

A woman in a hat with netting
and a seam up the back
of her stockings
the flirt of lace beneath
her unbuttoned blouse
with a martini in her hand
talks to a man in a dark suit
who takes a drag between drinks.

Blinds wide open, a man watches
on the roof one building over.

We could be Simone and Sartre.
Your only interest: Dali’s cubist box,
just another triangle.

Like Duchamp’s nude, I descend the stairs.

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