Caricatures studied in a warped mirror
horrors hidden in a forgotten drawer
fallibilities, vanities, vain perversities
heated dialogue with unequal temperament
his, an artistic struggle as much as a social war…
He bellows, odious and ear-gouging
then hisses, cotton-candy sweet
like a day at the dentist without an end imaginable
no one could endure his narcissism
money was no object, he was at his most ambitious
yet fell flat in pomposity, not a hint of originality
his wounded reflection he immediately disowned…
She posed for the covers of magazines
every hair in place, not one meaningful
pleasure evaporated, yet she was a success
due to her hype and the need for a star
her reviews were raves, sales hit a half million
it took years for the fog to clear enough
to see what actually had been made…
She was outrageous, even by her own flamboyant style
it was work she did not do often, or much cared for
she was at an emotional low, self-loathing, in creative despair
she’d become an exotic peacock, commanding little regard
an alcoholic boor with a nasty hangover
picking fights in neurotic frenzy, sinking into sluggish disaffection
then awaken to boredom again, a monstrous travesty
yet not without incidental beauty in erotic languor
as she made porridge out of her national heritage
for no other reason than rebelliousness…
Ah, but what a couple! A nuisance, a menace
their success gave license for others to try
who achieved almost everything, less the success
lacking creative talents and the necessary detachment
to create anything new or even worthwhile
grandiose pretensions with clichéd imitations
amateurs trying to mimic the works of the greats…
Juxtaposed, the difference was night and day-
such arrogant and weak fare should have been strangled at birth
missing the underlying tension that contributes to greatness
wholly absent in cheap opportunists;
the couple howled off tune in an enigmatic reaction
disinfected of humanity, devoid of mortal angst,
living short of realism, unfocused, unprepared,
falling out with half the city
intrigue behind a façade of imperial courtesies
even acquiring a mutual disregard, not even exchanging glances
other than chilled disaffections, indescribably subversive
their dreariness defying belief…
But how they loved their little practical jokes
as critics continued to hail them as the genuine thing
serving gesture for substance, ornate finery for depth
unworthy pitches for posterity, travesties of an epitaph
their exquisite nature careening in terrible lapses of taste;
yet they remained friends and lovers, interpreters, mediators
managing each other’s talents efficiently
supporting each other in a hostile world
deservedly above criticism for much that they did
even in agony when virility and originality faded
they were still The Couple, in a class of their own
the public basking in their reigning celebrity…
So they endured in agony, nurturing grudges like a rose garden
maintain a pretense of competence between accolade and exposure
tightrope walkers on a Temazepam swaying above a dead man’s gulch
barely above amateurish, yet successfully strangulated
in a morose and masochistic sort of way…
As they entered a room, the aural ambiance changed
a wordless transference of their personal presence
subtly unnatural, every parabola mathematically precise
without human imperfection, conforming to a master plan
transcending differences of period, style, cultures
lending uniformity to individuality and idiosyncrasies
giving the most chaotic an astonishing logic
creating a brand that consumers could trust, beyond variation
a perfect product, driven through hoops
insensitive to anomalies and anachronisms
made of arrogance and a hint of something smokier
and exclusive to the chic and rich
daft ideas that made lots of money
their self-validation then lost in a crushing depression
knowing how fine talent was spent in such trivial purpose
yet their justifications issued just in time for the Christmas rush…
They found themselves at Starbucks, in elevators, in lobbies
riding the crests of million-seller mush
jolts to the nerves, short circuits to the intelligence
meaningful art set aside for teen sensation,
classics replaced by crossover pop
their repertoire decimated, they were hesitant, unattractive
issuing a muddle of idle thoughts passing as modern improvisation
causing severe eco-damage to the delicate balance
that existed between commerce and art…
yet the serious souls around remained generous, pronounced them colleagues
even when they were oblivious to dignity, like kids on a playground
or exposed cruelly when up against genius
graciously cramping their exceptional abilities to the couple’s limitations
sacrificing beauty and tone, expression and emotion
robbing their own edifices of seriousness and solemnity
creating commercial parodies of their noble monuments
packaging themselves for the wrong mass markets…
so their careers were blotted with a few stinkers
whose isn’t? Born of pub fun
of ephemeral vacancies, of ink-wet modernisms
that could have finished their careers
before they began
lessons in tempering impulse with wisdom, with life and love;
the couple spent their days brown-nosing with the vertically aspirant
riding an emotional roller-coaster eluding half-witted productions
even when there was no chance of breaking through
to the world of ice-hearted, techno-addled empty heads
who lack the breathing apparatus to scale the heights
who, like novice climbers, are left gasping for air…
The couple accomplished unseen what the eye would not permit
yet shrieking in frustration, an illusion too far
hacking somnambulistic without sheen or smile;
yet they created an event, a happening
held in the nude without punch or passion
accompanied with a matchless indifference
a complete absence of interpretive intelligence-
if there was worse on earth, be grateful you haven’t witnessed it…
They returned for their final encore, with an integrity of selection
a rare preparedness to their performance
wiping their brows with an indelible stain
that lingered on the voice of their century.
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