The only thing to do at a time like this is write and hope that the muse comes. The muse of political life, the horrific landscape of puffy face after puffy face, the politicians march down the aisle, marrying each other in a ceremony marked by narcisstic hunger for power. There is a void, a gap between the words the promises the brains of the powerful.
Deja voo less - forgetting where we left not only our keys, but our life - we will find it at the pubs, we will find our lives again over merlot--across the table, God sits, personifying a new friend or lover, and he or she pours another glass, the sky is darkening, it is only four, and God pours the vintage wine, and the waitet brings another h'ordearve. And a flash comes across the min-- a child, cold and hungry and Bob walks into the cafe, Bob with a woman, Bob. THE Bob. Lateley we have been wanting BOB, because Bob has a special Bobness that looks like good leather. God asks for the bill as Bob sits at a nearby table, giving a quick nod of recognition as if Bob hadn't sucked the juices of youth out of you and every digbat in the city, and now on line, matchmaker.com, Bob's profile comes on the screen in your bedroom, late last night, while you were searching for new prospects for other wine tastings in another cafe with a better view and dimmer lights, where another God personifies your new lover and attends to your gluttony. Child, what child, don't screw with my head, send a few bucks, now let me get on with my life my shopping the leather pants are too loose the diets working can they be altered or returned or returned altered or returned, Oh my, altered or returned - how would they look, the leather pants, clinging to my ass, my ass at the bar, from behind, in the dim light, is it good leather, first question. Altered or returned. Where is the receipt, I left it at Bob's house - in the bag witht the shirt he bought that day, and now Bob sits across the room with another woman. The woman is wearing leather pants. Everyone in the cafe is wearing leather pants where God pours the wine and the bill never comes. |