Postmodern Nostalgia

A covert curtain raiser pulls a string and marvels at an epic scene Though parsimonious in essence the stage appears rather obscene Black cross and pitch dark raven on bold charcoal sable tapestry Ragged clairvoyant who twiddles cross bones by Caron's decree The program had promised naked clarity and seductive treats But now no bodies couple on the wooden floor in satin sheets The truth however fresh from history's and other sad cohabitation Sours moist appetites and threatens voyeuristic contemplation A simple box white as true innocence depicts death's surrender Rusty nails large as serrated daggers stick out of wood and tender For anyone's guess as to who holds the moribund mortal keys And for what the final will and wish decides to bequeath Maybe the dramatist shows kindness after the transmission Once champagne flutes held council in one last rendition For when audiences in deck chairs recline on the Titanic But the fool's vessel succumbs even when Satan is manic Spectators wait on fleshy bums for anything to be told and relieve The grandstand platform from misery far too mournful to conceive But while the actors carry on with epilogues and future insanity There is no second act and no dress rehearsal for humanity 10th April 2020