THIS SPACE
found
or otherwise
you have no footage
of me writing, whole
creative process
you just have to
go with face value
take on trust
seems that no bot
wrote this
you think
as levels are
discovered;
let themselves
get uncovered
before, in
coming to
a reading,
you edit and
manipulate
impose
and frame
according to
best-
guess narrative
supreme
authority
over all
located in
this space
HAND HELD
fast moving need
to be so
fast-
moving
to shoot the world
better go
hand-held
bounce along
go with the slow
cut fast and loose
let the scene
take you
where
it needs to take you
infectious, frenetic
cannot stop to
take a breath
(going Luc
Godard already)
unless Steadicam Kubrick
is more your
insane
dream, more your
something not
quite right
about this cup of tea
the gravity that drags us
pulling stuff, shapes,
ghosts
beings up
out
of nowhere
as the architecture of place
changes
before our eyes
caught in
surreal rush and terminal
maestro sway
CAMERA! LIGHTS!
camera! lights!
let’s shoot
this love scene
make it so authentic,
passionate,
nobody not
going to
suspend disbelief
realism, naturalism,
take your pick of those
what-you
-see-is-what-you-get
styles and genres
after which
we can watch the
dailies
catch the passion
before
it gets edited and
maybe
we get
to believe it is real too
BONEY
I apologize
for not having watched
your film yet
(hope it will
be as
good as Gladiator
in which you
played an
entirely
different character)
my supreme Leo commander!
let me kick this off directly
by telling you
how
much I love that hat
would
(if indeed I had one)
surrender
my Empire
for that hat
which to me seems so solar
to
proclaim you
as Helios himsrlf
on top of your head on entire
solar hemisphere
(rising,
setting)
of course, the hemisphere
below supplied
by the bottom
of your
now
my
gigantic head
Empire for your bicorne
hat
being
our fair trade
nothing could be nore
Napoleonic
be about continuaton
of your legacy
not even
ten ghousand
YouTube videos on
your rise
to power, sweet
Josephine
and the utter tactical
brilliance of
Austerlitz itself
than me
wearing that bicorne bonnet
en bataille
NOT TALKING
sadly poem
and film of the poem
are no longer
talking
to each other
film
of the poem
is still in embryo
stuck
in the concept stage
the scriptwriter
is trying to hook
a producer’s interest
presenting
a synopsis
everyone is wondering
how much of poem
should be
dropped, how
much embellished
in order to
produce an adaptation
that does not just
do justice but
extends, re-
interprets (without
going full
Charlie Kaufman)
metaphor
synechdoche
we can open with a tracking shot
to outdo Orson Welles or
Robert Altman
lingering seemingly forever
of each of
the seventeen syllables
all
of the three
shimmering lines
poems 2 die for