Auteur

We’re a set of two, the credits
a blip.
I do all
the acting you do
the rest: lights, camera, consolations.
Are we rolling?
Are we on fire now?
Make sure your cam’s
in the mood to keep me
alive. I’m waiting
for the signal, the concession
for all of you to
fetch your heart
from the pawnshop.
You say the wait’s a journey
of three steps and in the first one
you lose your first leg.

I say we should hire more of me
but you say there’s enough
of you, I have to agree because
here you are
directing: Gouge your eyes when you cry!
and there you are, editing
my face to the face
of every lover that could have been
me
and see, you’re up there
with the lights
pretending they’re working
over there rummaging
the wardrobe — an array of emptied bodies
I will hang
our ribs in.
And also, here
as me, ripping my skin
to be me, so we can
finish this scene.

I nod to the camera, which
is your head.
I’m a madman
planning murder, the politics of hats.
Today he’s buying carrots
at the wet market and he’s preaching
the death of God and he’s in love
with this God
and he’s wearing your khakis,
(zoom in on this scene)
so it itches at the elbows, so
no wonder you’re naked.

We’re coming to the climax where
I realize I was supposed to buy
potatoes and the storelady is
complimenting my bones and I say
why thank y- Cut!
Already?! Suddenly
I’m armless.
This is the first take
we have three more takes, love, you say,
then what?
Then, I will be limbless?
Then you will be limbless.
We’re watching me on the big screen
I should get an award for this.
I listen to you whine
about the color palette
You should have worn red,
You should have skinned yourself ,
We should have dipped these hands in hospitals.
Yes, I’m writing them down
and I feel warm, cupped
in your trembling hands.

- n.d.