MR. MEPHISTOPHELES II
Blue suede shoes and Anchor Island, the
daughter of the Florida Keys; outside the
little house, someone else is screaming. I
do nothing about what I see and hear - all
the evidences of reality (I swear) are as
false as day. I'll come back with fire.
-
'Time - do you not see? - isn't something
I have commerce with. How you humans put
it, mmm, let me think, 'here, there, and everywhere,'
yes, that fairly well sums it up. For me, it's a
gated enclosure, gate long ago left open.'
-
I look over there and - still and again - see
bar room people looking up, staring at a TV
while they drink their brews. What do they wish
to find? Another reality, or just a better story?
The only reason I am here is - if they are not
satisfied with what they've been given - to take
them away, kill them, break the seed they carry.
We'll want no more of that.
-
It's 10:15 on a very operatic evening, and I am
walking alone on Barrow Street. A few beautiful
girls and a number of drunken guys are seen passing,
while the Hudson Street traffic nearby slumbers its
gay way northward. Everything seems to be weary:
the mountings, the clutches, the pictures on the wall.
No comments:
Post a Comment