Dancing, singing, Frida Boccara and Stille
Nacht by the Wiener Knaben in my ears, I
happily chant about the repetitions of this
administrative miracle brought about by a
diligent application of bureaucratic magic:
Obtained proof of leave at my disposal and
applied - perfectly I’ll have you know - and
everyone signed the leave form, saw Mme
Pompadour on the floor in her office fixing
her plugs, danced to Machoene to hand in
The document that would put Michelangelo
to shame were he to see its finely sculpted
form which proves that I exist & appeared
today only to disappear on Friday to sleep
late, get up when the sun’s already shining
Drink a leisurely cup of coffee & languidly
wander my lovely parlour - delighting with
its shiny silk, brightly covered notebooks
strewn everywhere - as happy as I never
dreamed I could be when I was small…
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