#597 La Fatigue de Vivre

A man's suit adheres to the
piles of scrambled eggs 
that backdrop an empty 
table. The woman has been 
turned into a tree, is reaching 
out, but it's impossible to tell 
which way up she's facing. 
Living is such a drag when 
things come apart, made more
tiring when you have to pre-
tend that it isn't happening.

#596 The Waking State (1 & 2)

In one dream, I am living
in a façade with three
floors, a front door, & a
stoop. There are three 
windows to the top two
floors, two on the ground
floor plus the door, nine 
apertures in all, a nice 
square of oblongs. Two 
curtains to a window, 
currently drawn, so it is 
difficult to tell if anyone 
is home. When awake I 
am aware that this is not 
where I live. When asleep,
it seems my dreams have
furnished it with rooms. 








In another dream, the
neighborhood has chang-
ed, as has any semblance 
of what might once have 
passed for a house. Now 
only windows, still cur-
tained, with landscape dis-
played around them but 
at a distance. There may
be a ground floor, but if
there is it is now, even 
in my dreams, invisible.

#595 Ballerine Masculine

The corps de ballet have left
Les Sylphides not too far behind
as they relax beside the water.

They have eyes, ears, hands
only for each other, minimal
interest in the poseur who has 

usurped their onstage uniform 
& is now performing a pencil 
turn in their midst. Baluster thin,

little luster; & in that garb intend-
ed for the female dancer, comes 
across as too, too unappealing.