I Try To Get Jorge And Madeline To Understand The Relationship Between The 2nd World, Which Our Movie Is Attempting To Portray, And The 1st and the 3rd
In the second world, the president believes in ghosts
and tectonics, in magic and coal.
In the second world a millionaire’s dog gets rabies,
senators marry gypsies, plays are performed on the radio
and everyone, including beautiful men, ride bicycles.
If you and I lived in the second world,
we would meet late at night, at an outdoor café.
I’d cultivate mushrooms in my basement.
You’d sell stolen window glass.
The second world which is born, for just a moment,
when a tourist enters a hotel built by the military;
where Europe, Russia, India, China, Portugal, Indonesia
and America struggle over the moon.
The second world, whose dentists sink the teeth of the poor
into a stripper’s dreams of a better tomorrow,
whose Santa Claus murders turtles with cattle prods,
and whose children take the milk from their siblings
and use it to water lemon trees.
I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that a safety deposit box
in the 1st world is a poem in the second and a waste-ditch in the third,
each world having its own special relationship with truth
so that a lie told in the first becomes a stadium where bodies
are buried in the second and a ghost warrior in the third,
such is the progression of laboratories into museums into abattoirs.
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