Friday, September 24, 2010

Bazaar

Bazaar
(for TS Eliot)

Imprints of ancient life trailing
Keeping mundane appointments,
paying parking tickets,
picking out a porcelain present to give
in exchange for party favors
Drinking flat champagne with
ridiculous canap├ęs, lush
kissing in smoke-filled corners,
mussing of silks, mingling perfumes
carefully careless and free for
the lingering moment
Oh so gay and tragic in 
self-importance, our daily drama,
knives to throats
arcane jawbones slavering
Ripping fabric to jungle drums
catching on, moving forward
from a lack of there,
circles without centers
No fudgy surprise, no reward
for service, no perfect paradise
If the price is too high,
what are we selling?
A tiny sparkling gem opens a
whole new feeling.  Accept.

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