—HEY WINDOW PANE, DO YOU REMEMBER HOW SWEET IT USED TO BE?

 

 

Charlatan, All You Want to do is Dance 

 

How can you hate the sun you love and adore, just because it’s hitting you in the eyes and burning your cheek? Haven’t you asked, going on months now, for her to show her face, to arrive, goddamn it? And now she’s here, wearing a fierce yolk-yellow gown, twirling while remaining motionless, and all you want to do is dance away from her, escape her luminous swirl, her potency and sheen. Didn’t you always worship her? Didn’t you miss her terribly? You weren’t a charlatan, were you? You weren’t one of those men who say things they don’t mean, were you? How can you shy away from your beloved and keep a straight face while all she does is belittle herself, bowing and bowing and bowing down to you some more, her seams ripping across the sky, the color of blood that has reluctantly turned yellow?