or, The Black Velvet Curtain Shall Be Torn In Two
Monroe, Bogart, Presley, and Dean -
Café Boulevard of Broken Dreams.
Our breakfast of champions: thin coffee and cream;
white sugar; waffles; sausage, lean.
Stars so vivid seem to stand alone,
so full of meaning to have outgrown
our substantial span of three —
thine own dimensional trinity —
and have become so Real … and so True
that on this flat earth only two will do.
The idle look for romance or for peace;
for tips on how to know or what to feel;
for what’s for breakfast, or when to weep;
to name our nightmares; to help us sleep.
Today we search the veil, to reveal
what lies behind the crocodile’s tears.
It is our story, and it’s mostly real:
the journalism of our hopes and fears.