1147. SPURIOUS & FURIOUS

SPURIOUS & FURIOUS

What will you do for me, Mr. McMosty?

The genuflection we never see, the rip in the sky,

the poise that makes a skater shy?

I can never be what you are now, but at

least I can sit down and alter the place

I sit; finding better places for that.

I open to you now both of my hands,

yet you will see they are full of ink -

ink and paint, the mainstays of my

existence. Yours, on the other hand,

a spurious form of money made vague

by speed and froth. You say so much of

nothing, I blanch at the cantilevered fabric

of your fulsome cloak. You anger me, you do.

But that fact makes no difference.

Together, we are a team from Hell, both

reading different signals from the

selfsame signal giver.