Proposal to Elena O'hare PrufrockI will gesture towards the trees one morning, and scream: "Is this not the gratitude you desired? Is this not what you wanted?"While black smoke billows from the stovepipe.The cigarette may fall from your fingertips.We would wander through the palace of Versailles like kings,As waves of hunger remind us we're but peasants.The constable (nodding approvingly) mutters, "isn't this what you wanted, he says."And the concierge showers you with linen and lace.This sea of faces can be our voyeurs for the day.The magistrate may sneeze, but the vows must still be upheld.I shall adorn you in linen and lace.On this fine evening, we would m
re: ClaudeEmpty absinthe bottles littered the floor of the apartment.Evidence of his trade, while curtains (Green, so very green) billowed like smoke from a cigar.A discarded wallet was by the door mat.A card inside stated, "Claude."The artist worked throughout the night,Composing his grand symphony on the canvas with no respite in sight.Grand crescendos of reds and violets, culminating in ochre parapets-He took a swill of whiskey and clambered over the picket fence.A torn sheet of blotter paper lay on the bed beside him, the grinning visages of Pooh-bears, Panthers and Coyotes,And a white (or was it cream?) silk tie!"I must get dressed, I
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