Dream Party
Anahid you were standing there, next to the table, trying to say what Eternity was all about. I couldn't hear you, your voice was too low, like a whisper, but I could feel your breath. It was slowly arriving from the right, while in my left ear Paganini played through time and space into a bluetooth speaker. I was caught between the two. I asked you who the author was and you didn't know. It didn't matter, but I wanted you to know. You said the poem was about "being abroad." You said you didn't really know how to put it. You whispered, "it's about not putting all of your joys in one basket." The moment was eternal, yet I knew it couldn't last.
Clarice, I was leaning over reading when you walked up. You weren't shy. It was me this time, softly saying to you, "Eternity is about being abroad. I don't know the author." You were caught suspended it seemed to me between Paganini's ancient fiddle of fire, and my cool breath.
Gertrude. On fire unfettered you show. The show you shew unfettered you, unshoes the fair notion of fire. The eternal flame is in the saying of the same. The fiddle of Pagannini solves the riddle of the speech, eternally.
Frank, I knew I was going to have to Dick Tracy you in too, on some kind of retro-futurist wristwatch, which is just so yesterday. I'd rather hang out with you in Eternity, dear, while Paganini solves the mystery of Joe.
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