“Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are
starving to death.”

~Rosalind Russell, Auntie Mame

no. I can’t squelch it. the hunger is
deeper than you can imagine and it can’t
be bribed with grilled shrimp and Foster’s.
The sadness is legendary, bad ass, like
Bette Davis. everyone simply adores Bette Davis…
in theory. But life is so much bigger than
8×10 glossies.
riding around this desert oasis I look at
the Sandias and feel nada. and the yawning
bluest sky is pointless. Wonderful shopping
and eating and drinking opportunities and no
refineries or rednecks, at least not the kind
we left behind in East Texas. and that’s a very
good thing.
I can make collages and read Sweet Valley High
books and Movieline magazine. i can watch
classic video rentals.
“Sunset Boulevard”/”Auntie Mame”/”Key Largo”
I can put on my sexy/retarded femme fatale
turquoise blue wig and scarlet feather boa
and Hindu tank and Christmas pajama pants
and big furry purple slippers and liquid
eyeliner and red Elizabeth Arden matte lipstick
and pose for pictures in our new apartment.
i can make love to you by disco light while
a nun sings arias on the stereo.
but I will always be starving
staring through the window
at the display I can’t touch.
maybe at the moment of death
I will at last
break the glass.

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