The Fall Before the Winter . . .
Act One, Scene One: The Agoraphobe . . .
A tilt-a-whirl ride in October’s unseasonal heat . . .
with you going on about the difficulty controlling
the unleashed vulnerability . . .
Your weeping willows . . . and pale matadors as such . . .
and your nostalgia . . . surely counterintuitive . . .
but so what? . . .
Hot prospects jam the queue . . .
Icebreakers . . . with pilsner (eye)glasses
as if Wittgenstein's half-smile
or Dylan's Nobel . . .
Hammering it out with Miles's Someday My Prince Will Come . . .
You decide to err on the side of happenstance . . .
lost in the strictures
of adult coloring books . . .
To seek refuge in a momentary lapse . . .
The incredible luminosity of such
with your ducks all lined up, yes? . . .
X marks the spot
where you began one of your maiden voyages . . .
To be continued . . .
But I thought the pervasive Dadaesque spirit of invention
was a matter of course . . .
wigging out over a red herring . . .
Notwithstanding? . . .
The question of balance comes up to the stage . . .
And I suppose you have others to spare? . . .
There’s a bagginess to it all . . .
a looseness . . .
nothing to steer the course . . .
You left in search of common ground
which you know as well as I
will quarrel with the provocative ensemble
inserted as an addendum . . .
You have been selected for tricks . . . and treats . . .
But aren't you already on someone's to-do list? . . .
Read the next paragraph to yourself, please . . .
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| Bruno Aveillan |