I want to order meat from Lobel's
and I want to have a party.
You hate parties. You hate
any group bigger than four.
If I hate it
I'll go upstairs. Also
I'm only inviting people who can cook.
Good cooks and all my old lovers.
Maybe even your ex-girlfriends, except
the exhibitionists.
If I were you,
I'd start with the meat order.
We will have buglights in the garden.
When you look into people's faces
you see how happy they are.
Some are dancing, maybe
Jasmine in her Himalayan anklet.
When she gets tired, the bells drag.
It will be spring again; all
the tulips will be opening.
The point isn't whether or not
the guests are happy.
The point is whether or not
they're dead.
Trust me: no one's
going to be hurt again.
For one night, affection
will triumph over passion. The passion
will all be in the music.
If you can hear the music
you can imagine the party.
I have it all planned: first
violent love, then
sweetness. First Norma
and then maybe the Lights will play.
No comments:
Post a Comment