White lies His credit card klick- klacks as he racks up white lies Broken metronome Uneven rhythm measuring out lost moments We’ve had a twentyyear love affair, he gurns, tapping out more heart felt bullshit to a beat If only he could hear himself sniffing dripping in pretty, white lies. - Roxanne Escobales
This is not the life I asked for, but it’s the only one I’ve got. He read me the whole chapter of The True Story of Kiki of Montparnasse. A cafe is not a church, she said, then stepped up on the chair and across the table, jumping down as gracefully as a gazelle. I think She was When we I would
you’d like Kiki, he said. the Queen of Montparnasse. first met, I told him not pose for photographs.
Just a portrait that you’ll like, he said, pointing his lens, just a portrait that you’ll like. He’s trying to catch fireflies, not knowing they light for just a flash. But this is his story of her story. And we all know how stories end. We all know how they end. Longevity is overrated. Cameras lie. Give me a flash. Catch me a firefly. You are not Man Ray, alas, And I no Queen of Montparnasse. -Roxanne Escobales
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