Friday, January 23, 2009

The Demon Lover (A Poetic dialogue between a demon and his lover)

The Demon Lover
((A Poetic dialogue between a demon and his lover) (witticism at its best))


In their apartment, in ‘Times Square,’ NY, NY


I.

A woman wailing, “No—not a bit bad!” she exclaims.
“Not bad at all—d’you think?” she adds.
“Rather good,” said the demon.
“What time did you say it was?” she asks.

((His eyes tapering—hideous like) (expressing dim
displeasure.))

“Seems I’d said something wrong?” barked the woman.
Said the demon, in a hoarse like voice, “Can’t you
try to concentrate?”
“You bore me to tears,” murmured the demon lover.


II.

The demon, bobbling his head up and down,
back and forth, doing a double-take on that note,
says (with a solid firm tone to his voice)
“What did you say?”

(The lover is fixing her hair, painting her claws;
overlooking his statement, for the moment.)

“I told you already,” she says (bright eyed), you
should have written it down.”
The demon (a noble aesthete) “We never pass out
we just keep going on and on…!”
“I bet,” says the lover, “you think your endurance
is impressive? That’s particularly silly, when you’re a
dead duck! You boast too much, and lay about like
a tank, roll under the table, where you belong.”

“I’m going to the theater,” says the lover.
“Why?” says the demon.
“Here I can’t do any deep thinking! Plus you need
to learn the thing you’re making love to is a woman!”
“My god,” says the demon “is that what it is.”
“I’m tired of you,” she tells the demon, annoyingly.


The demon, as though talking to him, himself that is,
says: “I think after the next round, I’ll go to a musical
comedy.”
“I heard that,” said the lover, “that is your kind of
intellectual libretto.”

Now you could hear the demon groan and grunt,
“You are,” said the demon lover, “a dull meaningless
figure in a dull meaningless world.”


III.

The Demon: “Sex isn’t dull!”
“In itself it is,” she explains, “it does although, make
life more playful!”
The Demon: “Good show baby, you love it!”
“On the contrary,” says the lover, “it’s a lot of work
especially for me with you! You give it a purpose,
otherwise it couldn’t stand on its own.”

“Well,” said the demon, inhaling the unpleasant
atmosphere “in any case, I’m a pragmatist and so
grant a poor demon a… a little you know what?
Matter-of-fact, if everyone believed in what you
say, we’d be out of business.”

“I suppose so,” said the demon lover, “and to anguish
with conventional morality, we’re all borderline heretics anyhow, and you think you’re so sophisticated.
We don’t need demons to teach us this
rot, if anything, it’s our gift to you…!”
“How can that be, I don’t even know what that all
means,” said the demon.
“If only people really knew, how dumb you really are,
they’d not put so much value in your, demur.”


(Here then, came a knock on the apartment door, the tickets arrived for the musical and cinema theaters, and who know what might have gone on, and been said, had they not arrived.)


1-23-2009 (No: 2557)

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