L.A. Confidential - a poem

drivers confidentiality

should be a thing

my therapist can't tell

neither should my cabbie

when I tell him about dreams

in which I decapitate and eat

a cannibal cult leader

played by larry david

there is a humour to the drama

gently unfolding in the depths of folded space

I pull on weights and I dance

reflecting on a piece of media that sways

in its own infinitesimal madness

I tug at my body, I laugh, I look in the mirror

my grandmother's 250 year old mirror

sometimes I pass by it and I have flashes of glass breaking

has it been broken once? I do not want to consider it

this isn't it, it really isn't -

this is not the universe where the mirror breaks.

I do not hit mirrors

this happens in the flashes of my hollywood-casted dreams

so no - I do not hit it - this living object infused with time -

I am the many pieces that make up the me

and this

is not

the universe

where the mirror breaks.

I smile at ghosts and I engage in polite conversation

do not be an apostate in your own estate

towards the many foils of energy

syncing up to your frequency

and just lock your door if you want to be alone

you'd be surprised how many wights respect

the concept of a lock, more than its physicality -

a ghost once knocked on my door -

I did not fear ghosts ever since.

how can somebody be afraid of

somebody that is so polite?

reflections on media once again -

archetypes and tropes and iconography

warhol is alive in chile and he paints churches