DELEGATE THE ROCKPILE
Here at the outer limits, they hang
door-tags on all the knobs; personal
biographies of who may be inside.
How that all got started, I'll never
know - but they say it provides
employment for many.
-
Mine? When I sent my paperwork
back, I had made everything up.
Born out of wedlock on the hump
of a camel, spent my first few years
in Burma where my father was a
diplomat, went to Eton instead of
Avenel, spent my endless money
on sourcing new sources for the
source of the Nile. Lost all my
money and arrived in Manhattan
broke and purely poor. All bile,
made up whole cloth, not a truth
to be told. Hope I die before I get
get old? (No, please; I'd rather stick
around, if only to learn new diction).
-
What is life? They always try to
answer. Life as an affliction? Maybe.
Or maybe, like some idle banter, it's
something we do when there's nothing
else to do...or to be done. Passive voice,
or active? I wonder, where's the fun?
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