I find King Kong to be so great. The long rubber glove of
dawn inverts orange fingers all over the grass simply
when Kong moves out of the way of the weak, distant sun.
The whites of his eyes fragile against the lid's wink, clunky.
Old movie-prop yolk like Pringles breaking past the pupil,
i.e. a brown elephant rib in the middle of the glass eye
shaking off after-shadows gray-haired and diminishing
in the incoming stream.
Back at the studio's warehouse, they'd reclined the large disembodied
tongue in a trough of bacon fat. Live electrons came out of their hiding
places to visit it. So a movie prop tongue like the one used
in King Kong could be a true monstrosity: a taste-nest of thimbles
somehow given to expanding and contracting when touched,
mechanically. The tongue couldn't possibly think: “I am a reasonable
Kong's roar supposedly always comes from a tape recorder
although I think it comes directly from the beast himself.