I go to the movies like a thief goes into an Italian villa
silent, through the back
window, on tiptoe
with flashlight to uncover
antiquities and the hidden safe.
After Chungking Express,
I ate nothing but canned pineapple
in heavy syrup for weeks
I go to the movies to be alone in a crowd,
to slip anonymous into
the back row and hunker,
the way an assassin moves
into traffic after the kill.
After Vertigo,
I pretended to be someone else
until you made me me again.
I go to the movies like an inmate goes to the movies,
slightly scared and a little
resentful, to kill two hours
of a lifetime sentence, laughing
off the chains of this world.
After Breathless,
I talked for 24 hours nonstop
and was finally shot in the street.
