Sovereignty

To linger in a gallery with good works is philosophy -- stand in the right place and you can engage a hundred worlds and know that, Leibnitz be damned, this is far from the best of all -- but tonight my transcendence was interrupted; there were far more bodies in the room than I'd have expected in this town, and my tucked-in elbow still somehow caught a man in a coat and tie who was looking at the door. My plastic cup threw just a few tiny drops of cheap Cabernet on the girl's bare foot -- insufficient for Johnsonian epistemology but soft and now beconstellationed in purple -- and I remembered when I'd seen the private God of these thousand-dollar canvas universes make another girl, not in oils but in wine -- Merlot nose, Shiraz lips -- one night, and the next day sell me for the cost of a Parisian dinner my own little Montmartre -- not ontology now, but metaphysics.

05 May 2007
(edit: 10 May 2007)