You climb the lattice past the transformer hum
Your rubber soles kiss steel before the dawn has come
The city spreads its grid of sodium light
You walk the strand where sparrows dare not alight
Rain slicks the cable where your fingers grip
The projection booth leans like a listing ship
No film has threaded gate or lens in years
Just pigeons nesting where the shutter steers
High wire cinema you claim the screen tonight
The speaker post becomes your anchor bolted tight
No audience but wind through torn canvas sides
You balance where the projection light divides
Concession counter holds a mountain of dust
Popcorn machines rust solid in their crust
Your tool belt hangs from speaker number nine
The interstate glows like a fractured line
Rain slicks the cable where your fingers grip
The projection booth leans like a listing ship
No film has threaded gate or lens in years
Just pigeons nesting where the shutter steers
High wire cinema you claim the screen tonight
The speaker post becomes your anchor bolted tight
No audience but wind through torn canvas sides
You balance where the projection light divides
The screen faces east toward the river bend
A canvas sail the storms could not rend
You sit cross-legged on the gravel bed
And watch the first pale light tear dawn's black thread
High wire cinema you claim the screen tonight
The speaker post becomes your anchor bolted tight
No audience but wind through torn canvas sides
You balance where the projection light divides
Your pole rests horizontal across two posts
The saxophone sighs from the radio's ghost
No safety net below the sagging wire
Just broken glass and ash from some old fire
High wire cinema you claim the screen tonight
The speaker post becomes your anchor bolted tight
No audience but wind through torn canvas sides
You balance where the projection light divides
Morning paints the screen with rose and gold
The tightrope calls you back into the cold
You uncoil rope and kiss the speaker goodbye
The drive-in holds the shape of where you lie
High wire cinema you claim the screen tonight
The speaker post becomes your anchor bolted tight
No audience but wind through torn canvas sides
You balance where the projection light divides
High wire cinema the screen remembers you
The tightrope waits but dawn has broken through
Piano trembles low and slow
Brush snare fades the smoke
