In this case,
the right words
are few,
must be
sharp and
clean as jewelry—
and chosen
just as carefully
as those polished
affectations are
to rare but naturally-
occurring minerals.
I am a conjurer.
You
are the conjured.
Poof—I exhaust,
then revive
my audience;
I gas them
so I can be the one
to fix them up again.
I am the menace
and the protector
of the menaced.
In every case, the
right words
are few,
and the pure thoughts
are two:
First, this place
where they are
is actually
the lounge;
it's only
the waiting room,
and I
am the warm-up act.
Second: the big star
behind the next door
doesn't give a flat
fuck about them
at all.
