YOUR BROKEN
BROADWAY RECORD
A waning moon rides over the open
field in the early morning bright; the
flat water too dazzles. Someone's
shimmering light, Gatsby-like, dances
over the wet expanse. Reflections ripple
as things appear to gobble each other up.
Colorless light, light with color, no matter.
We remain - the sum total of all our moments
as people. We drink, therefore, from a cup -
a final goodness, a thank-you fellowship, a
summing up of grand polity and grace, together.
-
I cannot watch the kick-steps the wild
chorus-girls are doing - no Sunday In
the Park With George for me. This so
quickly turns ribald and raw. I ache, in a
never-ending tooth-like pulsing, and
want relief. Can you hand me that
Broadway moment, please?
-
The quick-talker eludes - his
fast words escape both meaning
and full intention. Such park-bums
in Summer just say what they
will, say what they say.
-
'Beneath the lilies and antelopes and
blue monkeys are darker things :
the Minotaur, the Labyrinth, the
double-faced axe inscribed on
an ancient death-sacrifice pillar.'
It would seem, (would it not?), that
all of this remains OK with me.
I am the voiceless one, the
mute disciple, the monkey
clambering now up that
slick, greased tree.
BROADWAY RECORD
A waning moon rides over the open
field in the early morning bright; the
flat water too dazzles. Someone's
shimmering light, Gatsby-like, dances
over the wet expanse. Reflections ripple
as things appear to gobble each other up.
Colorless light, light with color, no matter.
We remain - the sum total of all our moments
as people. We drink, therefore, from a cup -
a final goodness, a thank-you fellowship, a
summing up of grand polity and grace, together.
-
I cannot watch the kick-steps the wild
chorus-girls are doing - no Sunday In
the Park With George for me. This so
quickly turns ribald and raw. I ache, in a
never-ending tooth-like pulsing, and
want relief. Can you hand me that
Broadway moment, please?
-
The quick-talker eludes - his
fast words escape both meaning
and full intention. Such park-bums
in Summer just say what they
will, say what they say.
-
'Beneath the lilies and antelopes and
blue monkeys are darker things :
the Minotaur, the Labyrinth, the
double-faced axe inscribed on
an ancient death-sacrifice pillar.'
It would seem, (would it not?), that
all of this remains OK with me.
I am the voiceless one, the
mute disciple, the monkey
clambering now up that
slick, greased tree.
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