A Room of Silver

Its the reflection, beveled
a million times infinity as
light catches, bounced onto
and across the trail of countless
others watching, or being watched.

Milling of characters through, around.
Some staying overnight, some for weeks
at a time, all are given a task, they
are part of the entourage...

Doing for Drella, the great white hope,
robot-man, promises everyone's quarter-hour
in the spotlight, or on film, but therein
lies the rub, that for this amount of time,
there's the unblinking eye, the why of the lens,
constant, unwavering, intimidating, you find
yourself within the eye of the storm.

(A spur-the-moment response to one of the Group poetic challenges they often have... Guess I had Warhol on the brain.)