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| Mr Miller dreams of his Mistress 100 x 80 cm acryl on canvas by Karin Goeppert |
“SOMETIMES
YOU EAT THE BEAR AND SOMETIMES THE BEAR EATS YOU”
In a buckthorn hedge, I saw a family of long
tailed
tits. The white-headed, Scandinavian kind.
Nell Zink
Striving
for some kind of symmetry
that falls
apart in his battered old hands
he starts
to cry, slowly. It’s not my fault.
Some forces
are too strong to argue with.
Order is to
chaos what destiny is to chance, etc.
Even the
wind concedes this point as it devours our sail.
The other
night I have this weird dream about a blind date.
The lamb with
garlic in lemon sauce looks delicious
yet has the
texture and taste of sandpaper.
The wine’s
an insult: bouquet of hay soaked in acid rain.
And my
date’s talk, well, it’s brilliant enough, I guess,
but she resembles
a fledgling Richard Nixon, maybe a niece
or cousin,
and I fear she might start shaking her
incipient jowls,
give a backward preview of No, I am not a liar
and you
won’t have Richard Nixon to kick around anymore,
then offer
a final pathetic wave from Marine One, etc.
And if she
has to shave her pits, legs, privates twice a day
the way
Dick had to shave his famous face, she isn’t talking.
While in
line for a frozen yogurt as follow-up to my kraut-dog
the other
day (as if trying to prove that indigestion’s a categorical
imperative)
I got to thinking about Decline and Fall…of people.
That it
really is a closed system. And that all our fears and nightmares
wander in
drunk and deluded, coming off some dreadful meds,
a waste of
energy. It is maturity—gradual refinement— that matters:
a pinot
noir that feels like silk and tastes like paradise:
Charlie
Parker and Miles Davis jamming as the hour turns blue.
Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Victoria.
ReplyDelete