The Bandleader’s Last Gig On Venus

This afternoon in our bedroom epic theatre a minus one act farce.  Genuine antagonists do not exist. Opportunities, obstacles, parallels, variation,      counterpoints -- all this, and I’m still      wearing socks. We take advantage of the deliberate use of pause. Words and pauses together a sexual chiaroscuro of reverse.  The wandering floodlight.  My blue quilt. These props we discard as I probe the comic triangle.  Bermuda shorts.  Laughter can be rhetorical. There is a desert there, nourishment, no matter.  I call out to the four winds to save me. The stuff from which dreams, etc.  Made.