I lied I took a cinepoems class and I wrote more poetry. Here's one.

What do you think?
Should we go?
We could stay the night and come back in the morning.
It could be fun, like it used to be.
You know, those hazy memories of sunrises and fresh flowers the cold drove away?
Or would we hate it just as much?

What do you think?
Should I give it up?
Would it matter?
How much would it matter in five years?
Or ten years, or twenty?
If I'm alive that long.

What do you think?
Do you think I'll live that long?
I think you will.
But I think I will be faded pictures and dust by then.
I think I will be crystalized in grainy films that will get lost by somebody.
I don't know. 

What do you think?
Will I come back as a ghost?
Are they real?
I never thought so, but I keep seeing shadows out of the corners of my eyes.
They look like old ladies in black and white photos.
Do you see them, too?

What do you think?
Am I making sense?
I'm not always good at that.
Am I good at anything?
You're good at everything.
No, you are.

So, what do you think?
Does it ever end?
Will we walk on forever?
Are we doomed to pretend to dance to music no one can hear correctly?
Are we at the whim of a child pressing pause and play?
Are you still listening?

What do you think?
Does the water pour on forever?
Do the clouds never cease to roll by?
Does the world keep turning when we die?
Do the worms notice when we're put in the ground?
Will the worms notice me?
Do you notice me?
Do I notice myself?

What do you think?
No, I don't know what I think.
I don't think at all.
What do you think?