Andrew F. Giles


                                 Tom Cruise took the call in his I AM THE POWER t-shirt 
at 3pm. 
               By 3.15 Lars was L.A-bound sunglassed & solo 
yo he only worked alone oh & the gin he ordered mid-
flight was a thick unsparkling matrix of iridescent blues
						                                & variegations.
Sure Nicole will act, Stan made an historic job of her & she
chooses her roles whacked on Botox, completely rigid in 
		              Lars will see anyone in court who tries to mess
with his snapshot of the real, it reads like the contract that
never lies: 
		                                  Hubbard is haunting the eternal skies. 
		                                                                                                     Cut. Cut. 

Tom has a little rentboy on Sunset who sings like he means
it & Tom nods his head all sagely and says: we can get you
treatment for this. 

		                        Nicole will act.  
Everybody must act & get staked-out on camera in the 'wood & the rules - well,
		                                    there really ain't no rules, except the
		                                                                laws of the universe in the Book of L.
		                         Ron & these have been well-recorded
		                                                                                at the cost of millions & Lars has a film 
to make, period.

Take one: the alarm clock & a fug of cigarette smoke wait to 
snap Tom outta Lars' dogme dream but ol' cruisy dozed off 
to Action! weeks ago. 
		                         Damn it he looks sexy asleep & Nicole forms
an expressionless gunfire moue in taut response to Lars giving markers 
to sleeping beauty through his dark vermillion eye. 
		             Lars watches the camera roll                      beep                             keeping
its eyeline one step behind the clock & time is statistically neater 
in the lens & hollywood is a dreamland of friends

		 - cowled-up crows 
					               who perch crookedly 
on the set pieces from a Streep 
je ne regrette rien epic 
				                       & shift & bustle heavily & scowl. Beaks 

and wings stick Tom's oscarworn face like butter to the film  
in strips criss-crossing the set, lines on a hangar floor 
		          with Nicole barking up from the grid, the dogme dog that      
her cue. 
	       Off set she’s no less off-world, 		            woof 	   after method 
	       woof		          in her caravan while she switches the late-night service 
				                      to cruise control & Lars re-writes the script, checks for


ANDREW F GILES has work in Ambit, Magma, Equinox, Poetry Scotland, Ink Sweat & Tears, And Other Poems etc, has written for The Spectator & The Scottish Review of Books & edits Scotland’s online literary arts & culture journal New Linear Perspectives. He was recently included in New Writing Dundee 7, & the SPL’s Best Scottish Poetry anthology 2011 edited by Roddy Lumsden, & longlisted for The Rialto’s poetry competition judged by Sir Andrew Motion. His article John Burnside’s Poetics of Failure: a Havoc of Signs recently appeared in US journal JERRY.

Read more work by Andrew F Giles:

Poem in Ink Sweat & Tears
Poem in Scottish Poetry Library
Author’s Website
New Linear Perspectives