Lately I've been waking up in the dark of the night with a brain incubating with words. Half-formed rhymes dance tantalizingly overhead and threaten to fly away unless I commit them to immediate memory. For a few intense minutes, I attempt various mnemonic devices (Create an acronym! Build an association chain!) in the hope of staying in my warm bed, but eventually I shuffle off to my office and pit myself in a typing race to catch the winged little creatures before they fade to nothingness.
Here's a poem that came to me recently at 4am and was complete by the time the sun came up three hours later. I may embroider it for an upcoming project I'm thinking of doing on Hollywood - I like the idea of stitching words like "Balenciaga" and "Prius" and "ahi"; they are so redolent of our 21st century narrative.
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In Search Of An Ending
She sat in the penthouse bar,
Stylishly wrapped against cold
A capelet adorning her shoulders
A vision for all to behold.
Lace adorning her torso,
(Zac Posen last season, on sale),
Her shoes, Louboutin, half off,
(Via Gilt Groupe's biweekly email).
Neiman's had sold her the handbag,
A Balenciaga, in black,
She felt ill when she thought of the price tag,
And was thinking of taking it back.
The credit card bills were mounting,
The lease on her Prius was due,
The rent on her studio had increased,
Her landlord was threatening to sue.
The bartender reached for her cocktail,
Warm from sitting so long,
She gave him a look, and he left it,
She needed it there to feel strong.
Her Hollywood dreams were still pending,
Auditions had not gone that well,
She had to curtail all the spending
Or it was back home to Tampa to dwell.
The business men wolfed down their ahi,
And knocked back their Grey Goose on ice,
And burped when they thought no one saw them,
And leered at her over their rice.
Her God-given red lips sighing,