He had the photo of another face taped over his face. His sister carried palm fronds and tea leaves. She showed much skill when she danced--and this was amazing since, in the house, she had no partner to dance with.
She had to dance with a broomstick to which she had glued lace and sequins. He stood and put his forearm on Proust's shoulder. The image was hazy. He wore a mask. He carried a cane.
Two receding mopeds--we tried to catch up to. Much of the brochure had been blacked out, bowdlerized. She penetrated her parakeet's death with her somnolent sickness.
Subsequent times, he retched over his now dead mother. Sickbed death scenes were not enough. Sickbed seances. The funeral was so close to the tournament of lilies. She did not have eyelids, so she had synthetic ones made for herself. They were made of rainslicker material. She spoke with a distaste of his often invisible entrance.
Erik Satie wore a homburg, pince nez, and a beard like a black icecream cone.
No comments:
Post a Comment