New Poem #24

Lacrimonious diminuendous. Curtains close. Off to merriment! Step up now, into the carriage, cane at his side. What a show, what a show, oh but yes, wasn’t it just divine? Naturally, the finest falling of woman ever committed to the stage. Those micro-waves, Un Di Felice Eterea, shall bounce around the hall ‘til the end of time, I assure you. But our hero, what’s on his mind? Champagne unfluted, cravat well-tied, fingernails immaculate as the Virgin herself; the preoccupation reigns, the dance lingers lingeringly, of the bull-men, the bull-headed men, a bunch of latter-day Minotaurs. The issue? Self-recognition. Not consciously, beneathingly. Handful of issue, in the bath, then approaches the looking-glass critically, and for a moment it is as if…This is a morbid tale, and the faint-of-heart may wish to look away as the deed is done. Curtains open. Grotesquerie worthy of the Great Clown himself.