Luisa
My Luisa
is a muse
and a Napoleon.
My Luisa.
When you write Luisa
(the virtues of glasses, excess,
8 ½ ).
Lilacs, tulips, control over my fingers.
This spell’s luscious.
(Not a spell).
Wrap your Fellini around
Which one. Luisa.
Oh I’m too the wife.
Write it.
I want to be L—
I want to be L—
I am Luisa (The).
Relinquishing Luisa.
So that we’ll be the muse.
My subconscious, the muse.
Something without origins
without reference to anywhere else.
Read it.
Now I’m.
I say the.
The thing.
Yes.
I’m not really
I’m more like
I want to be
The muse.

Comments
Hey Renee.
You asked me to comment and this poem doesn't really grab me. It is hard to bring surrealist film to life in a poem. I tried really hard to bring Herzog's Hearts of Glass to life. I also have a poem about Andrei Rublev, which never took off.
Your first two stanzas hold the promise for the piece. I would change the first one to:
My Lucia is a Muse
and a Napoleon
my Lucia
very sexy lines. Nice!
The next stanza is very, very good. I need to see the movie. Of Fellini, I only remember La Strada and one weird homo-erotic movie based in ancient Rome.
I'd rework the poem so that the strength of those first two stanzas is evident in the subsequent stanzas. i would also make the piece shorter and include a brief film synopsis as a header, so your readers who haven't seen the film an follow along.
Lucy