"This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air. - W. B. Yeats

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

After a Long Day

No pretentious shit tonight-

Just two-hundred envelopes stamped and mailed

To various celebrities, nobility, the filthy rich, and the

Theatre bigshots

In and around the London area.

A salad and tea- earl grey with milk, no sugar

Eaten outside when the weather is

Just slightly too cold.

An American man is at the table to my left

Teaching an Italian girl

To bastardize English.

I’ve had enough

Choices and commuting

And answering telephones.

I want to be tied up tonight

With silk scarves.

Climb into bed, take a pill,

Wishing I had a place

To float in

(A bathtub

Or a chemical high

Or both)

Check the email.

No important messages,

No unimportant messages.

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