Beauty depends upon the type and number of drinks we’ve had before retreating to our parts in a play called “Ain’t It Bad.”
We hump our troubles for as long as we can or for at least an hour or two; a brief respite before we wake and ask, “God, what did we do?”
It’s back to work or some coffee cafe’ to while away our time agonizing over This versus That and differences far too sublime.
For at the end of our day, at the end of our play, at the end of each of our turns, our troubles are gone with beauty along when our ashes are put in their urns.
I AM FURIOUS (YELLOW), p.33