sherman lullaby.
have you noticed the incandescence the organdy draperies create when the twelve-thirty moonlight passes through them? you take your slow, well thought-out steps across the stretch of caulked oakwood, rotate your head to an obtuse angle and peer through the empty openings where light peeks through -- a vast sea of holes, m'captain. aboard the ship, the ghosts of deceased intellectuals run through your body like a current, passing volts and temperatures below zero degrees centigrade though your circulatory system -- the fierce lushes on board, with rouged faces and sluggish visages, cheer immensely and yell out euphoric obscenities. my de Beauvoir, I ask to dance with you tonight. let me take your frail, sallow hand as we waltz on this graveyard dancefloor...let us be placid as the air that envelopes us to avoid inciting jealousy from Algren of our metaphysical rendezvous. i tip my hat off to the woman in the corner of the galley who dresses in burgandy muslin and cheap black lace, painted with undereye circles and weathered down lips on her powdered complexion. the chamber ensemble completes the molto ritard of Vivaldi's Autumn...our deep promenade comes to a chilling halt. we bow to each other farewell. goodnight, m'lady.