Pilot Episode
Clip
You must never forget me.
Even though I fear you shall,
my hope is that you please don't.
This
is the speech I give to my more
talented
lover on our last night together,
the
night she departs to a better city
where
acclaim and new romance await.
I
like the way my words have a slightly
archaic
syntax derived from re-reading
Hardy
and George Eliot all last summer,
yet
the whole scene is delusional
because
there is no lover,
and
there is no better city or scene.
There
is only me in the shower,
rogue
energy posting sticky notes
for
a production meeting in my head.
Early
humans were such good Buddhists,
always
in the moment from constantly
having
to kill or skin something.
But
once they started preserving meat,
winter's
supply sun-dried and stacked up
there
was leisure to draw on walls,
point
to the stars, say, that's me up there,
I'm
Orion chasing Ursa across night skies.
Their
dream worlds somehow innocent,
while
ours, well, mine in particular,
is
just indulgent, out there. I must do better.
One
more thing though before I reform -
why
did I cast myself as such a nebbish?
And
how can interest ever be sustained
(in
my ten-part auteur cable series)
if
I'm clearly not on the hero's journey?
I
will need a personal assistant
(Yale
drama school, but LA savvy)
both
for the casting and to help decide
if
my lover forgets me or not.
I
can see it going both ways.
(published by Blue Fifth Review, 7/18)
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