For the Love of Lady Cinema
I long to give my life to you
To free my liquid existence upon your celluloid —
But dear, my love, I am compromised —
How can I say that my body aches for you?
I’m all mind and want you to be mine
I want to mine your archetypes —
I want to build you up like a sculpture
My hand must shape your climax and I would
Blind all the world to see you in a brilliant close up —
— But I would cut, cut, cut right through you though
if you disappointed me
— But dear my love, in this life we can edit
This life is poorly scripted, rife with lots of bad acting —
I’ve played my part night after night when I steal away
To Godard and Chabrol; to Fellini and Herzog —
To Lanthimos and Hitchcock and Lee and Schnabel
Who leaves me here weeping, in a hovel of my own
Unrealized impotent, literary desires —
See! I am surrounded by the books of gurus!
They crowd me with their voices — and they are fools!
I’ve more stories in me than Satan has sinners
I once said, wild-eyed wandering Los Angeles
(What a stupid thing to say!)
I live for you another day — a little festival
Could resurrect me after a long, cold season —
We were so beautiful together when you held
Me to sleep in Cannes — God knows how many
Dedicated asses sat on my seat in the Salle Lumiere!
(I dare to say I fell asleep during Shoplifters)
— I long for knowledge and an army behind me
To work steadily for you, Lady Cinema
My hand wishes to imprison you
In an immortal sculpture of light and time —
Yes — and direct you to be mine!