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.
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.