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)