Longing for the Derridean fairy tale, She
Spins the pages with liminal pixiedust.
He leans in, waiting on the margins to hear his cue
The binary opposites urging resolution
They are in agreement on this
The girl leads him to the stage where fables are made
It plays snippets of Kant’s moral imperative
Like a universal clockwork cockblock
She is afraid and unwilling to be a hypocrite
It’s like alchemy – mercury – a Max Ernst dream
They refrain from comment
He traces the girl’s lips
She pulls back inwardly, as he pulls forward
There is little actual movement
It is mumbling about Jesus in some numb dead tongue
But the prologue is finished. The scene begins;
the parts that lead to his entrance are reached;
They are attentive - attuned. The girl moans textually
She is frozen nearly zombie-white with fear,
It finds its privileged voice invoking logos,
But he must speak the lines as they are written and
play his hour upon the stage…or is truth a fiction?
The girl lights his cigarette. They applaud.
Once upon a time
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