B/c I dreamt someone spoke ill of Christoph Waltz,

I woke with my nails bloody
from digging into my palms,

with the inside of my skull
wallpapered with horrors.

Because I dreamt that someone had spoken ill
of Christoph Waltz,

my heartbeat became erratic
and my future self

died a few minutes sooner
than expected.

Someone spoke ill of
Christoph Waltz and the distress

caused me to make a few minor changes in my day
which eventually led to my becoming a millionaire.

Because I dreamt someone had spoken ill
of Christoph Waltz

I could afford to buy the house
next to his,

but I soon discovered that
he likes pulling pranks on his neighbors

like lying
about which day the garbage gets picked up,

like breaking eggs into
my mailbox.

Christoph Waltz invited me over
during a party

and pulled the bucket of water
over the door gag

and suddenly I was the movie
that nobody liked

but everyone had seen.

Because I dreamt that someone had spoken ill
of Christoph Waltz

I began therapy with a psychiatrist
who looked like a combo of Freud and Christoph Waltz.

Christoph Waltz had recommended him highly.

At the end of the first week of sessions
after I had confessed many secrets

including my love for Christoph Waltz
the doctor ripped off his fake beard

and there stood a grinning
Christoph Waltz.

I ran out crazed
thinking

He really is a wonderful
actor.

Because I dreamt that someone had spoken ill
of Christoph Waltz

I stayed shut up in my new house
peering occasionally out the windows at Waltz's backyard.

Often I would begin to peek
and he would be sitting in the shade with his legs stretched out,

facing my house
and preemptively giving my general direction

the finger.

Because I dreamt someone had spoken ill
of this son of a bitch

I sold my beautiful home
and moved back to my apartment.

Somehow Christoph Waltz got my address
because I still get postcards from him

on which he draws genitals
and dogs copulating

and filthy words
in German.

I always respond to these by foaming into envelopes,
tearing up what he sends

and mailing him the scraps.

He bombards me with friend requests
on Facebook

then blocks me once I accept.

He gets drunk and phones me in the middle of the night
reading from the scripts of his latest roles.

He mails me the shavings
from his razors.  

Nobody believes that any of this happens,
because our beards are the same color

and our handwriting styles
are identical.

I dreamt someone had spoken ill
of Christoph Waltz

until I finally started speaking ill
of him

too.