Today I saw Marilyn Monroe in the crawlspace where we weren’t supposed to be but we were,
kicking up vintage stardust.
I stood on the elevator, with nothing but a moving door, and I smiled at the audience as I
watered their plastic plants with silicon moisture.
I hit the drums of an empty stage and channeled my inner maestro.
But now, now I am truly the void I was meant to be.
I sit in black behind the bars of the batteries of each actor applying adhesive to their arteries
for amplification and making sure someone’s sound is solid and not noise.
I sleep in Broadway musical dreams of the closing hand of numbers.
I saw Marilyn Monroe today.
“Marilyn, darling, how are you? Are you still a star after the sedatives started to settle in? Are you channeling your inner Cupid with Chanel and nothing else? You look wonderful in blue today darling.”
(no not the blue dress reserved for presidents but all blue so so blue the blues of your velvet dreams)
She just grinned at me. I am yet another camera to her.
I walked away, up the stage, to the typewriters, craving Bohemia.
I smoked on their prop cigarettes and risked lung cancer.
I ate their faux food and got indigestion from the apples.
I drank the cold light Lipton in the whiskey bottle.
I realized, then, that I was alone and a lonely heart so I walked back to the board not the
drawing board the mixing board.
Back to the beginning.
Maybe I will be Marilyn Monroe next time.