Aloof, Voltaire would advise looking
for someone less like a character
in a book; Goethe agrees, adding,
'Though a little less re-writable,
or less so than I.' Genet shouts,
'I want a boyfriend!'. With anxious nod,
Forester peeks open his journal
writing, "He can look like this...
bare, often, warm in the dark, soft
to the touch." Myakovsky growls,
'Zapadniks!' and seizes a quill,
scrawling, "Short, sweet-smelling
hair, fingers to glide over ice,
my heart, nipples for erect tongue
to caress." Isherwood raises a gloved
hand. 'What about, "Lips tight over
closed eyes that picture him always,
out-of-fashion movies unremarked
by the Society page." Hm?'
Fugard claps politely. Greene sneers
perfidiously. 'Veneration doesn't propel
boys into refuge. The wind does.
"Let the West Country breeze hide
with him in my soul." That sort of thing.'
Ludwig und Richard leave the city.
Hiding under the buffet, Kundera
tosses a note onto Schiller's lap.
The German reads it skeptically.
"A near-perfect banquet that isn't
a black grave." La Rochefoucault
pours more wine. Da Ponte and Schikaneder
carouse duetically. 'Pulsating with the blood
of love, coursing through our exchange,
beloved and immortal!' Williams scurries
out through the back door. Mishima
takes his bread. Goddard scribbles
on the tablecloth, "Captured in silver
dust, framed in gold, the boy makes
the man one." Stone drunk, Fitzgerald
approves; Gertrude demurs. Tchaikovsky
begins a seventh symphony on the spot,
but cannot decide what to call the piece.
Balzac, smelling of cognac, proves no help.
Marlowe begins to bicker with DeVere.
Yevtushenko wins a drinking contest
with a bitter Hemingway and takes the floor.
'A man's love is voluminous! Glorious! Victorious!'
Seeing Mandelshtam hasn't yet arrived, he weeps.
Copyright (c.) 2009 by Adam Henry Carriere. All Rights Reserved.
