Half-formed bites of well worn ideas.
Old chewed dog toys
Jumpers full of holes that I can’t throw out
Snatches of grey and amber
Shabby characters flitting across the stage
Delivering their lines for last time
No longer convincing
Disoriented
The actual meaning of the play now apparent
Speeches falling off the stage to an empty house.
Have I really been holding this together
With props and string and sticky tape?
Hoping that this fabrication will hold water
More than water –
Wine?
If I already knew the lines between being and nothingness
The edges of knowledge and brith of new contingencies
The roots of the real and the source of the absolute
I’d have ceased the search and collapsed the future
And would be fearfully repeating
“The show must go on”