i.

i watch people die.

the romance moves slowly
on camera film; a lover
crashing through pvc
to kiss pavement,
windows behind relay
a tragedy captured
with ***** lights.

ii.

i transcribe scripts
to my bathroom mirror.

i see no Winslet.

green in my eyes
mark an imperfect creature,
no feeder's hand to bite.

i speak to my reflection
in self indulgence.

iii.

i don't have a role to play.

who i am is minors and leads
of movies shaped by the past,

but gas on the celluloid
makes the memory blur.

feelings died with the character
dead in the past.

iv.

i just watch people die.

casablanca;
temporary love rejected
when the bone and
the heart shatters.

v.

i don't know who i'll become.
i don't know if i'll become.