Meal Ticket

“Art too is just a way of living.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

And I am the coin surrendered to the mouth of the machine, the ticket that the chain will perforate, indifferent to how or where. I am the payment collected in advance for a carnival ride that ends before it even begins. Here I am again, among the tents where strays and midgets sit, where the natives polish the foreman’s shoes; where the sad girls in torn tutus comb through their high wire repertoire of dreams. Not even the camel knows how narrow the door. Not even the needle knows the jaundice in the eye. Line up, line up for the rations and the dinner bell. Remember, as they ladle out the dregs, what it is that feeds you.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Sunset Boulevard.

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