2 To W. When next to you, I am inside the movie, the set arranged -- The light, eyes, hands of clocks, lines in the script are pointed at us both; I cannot hide, delay, withdraw -- flat on the screen, rolled in the role: When voice inside pronounces: 'Action!' -- Turning to you, I act. I ache Inside the plaster cast around me -- the world faked up, Fresh air in make-up, objects dressed, and persons textured in their still Lives, packed in plastic, labeled 'Made inů' on the back of necks -- no will Within, beyond the theme of film. Today is a thriller. Eyes Of mine were shot in close-ups. Trying to improvise. You sought My tacit shelf in space, till objects vowed aloud a verdict -- grouped In jury, stating resolution and resolve, fixed meanings. Clues Are more than laws: 'Who dares to overcome?' Look: my weeks are cropped. In bits. Then glued anew around my body. I'm shot inside. I do not recognize myself. I'm mutilated by the plot. I'm cast in plaster. Caught. Tomorrow -- A cartoon? An epic? No. A film noir. But with my eyes on you, Still I improvise.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Returned Mail
Collected Poems

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