Now look what's happened: the party
of the first part bailed - Styrofoam Starbucks in hand,
warm-up suit looking the part.
And what part is that, exactly?
Whatever the contract calls for.
The foreplay wordplay served up with air guitar
and spiffy website hawking attitude apparel;
the three act play chopped to one.
A short run to the corner eye-candy store.
To begin again, yes?
What? You mean nothing more?
Do the math.
Opening day closed: your life discarded,
kicked to the curb, moments of passion cooling:
your weeping counterpoint
to the water music shadowing you.
No stranger to cutting and running,
you now reap what you sowed,
pack mules in the street hustling Post-its of dreams.
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| Francesca Woodman |