And this began with a little stage direction.
I'll read.
"Closing night"
"Flashlight ushered to your seat.
Fade house music, the Eponymous album coming up.
Blanch whiteface to face.
The act of the case.
The tables had turned in trial and Wilde bade behavior
lie in it.
Made Douglas lower into worry representing himself.
The theater presiding.
A 100-year appellate overture.
Heels at the apron's lip, see our pivotal youth.
Lord upstage the subject you stood down to be,
having or behaving chosen, stood.
The case is the act of Blanch admittedly.
We ask questions if you stand it.
The floor'd never leave Whiteface's feet.
The braves would have completed the dance
and introduced herself as such, the act alone in Spirits
on the River, the act if anyone (white off stage
and late with it) presses play.
Maestro?
Her name cancels some of its Sioux self out.
The act of Blanch.
She bent.
Dinner banter over river rush dampers
no drum of her bobbing doing.
She kneebent shallowly.
Symmetry wasn't even on her side.
Repeat: she'd only throw virility into relief.
Were it I, I'd dream of their risen red nipples.
Bounding just wide of her and rising fire,
but the dream takes all there is of Blanch.
The Commonwealth.
Countersued the undefamed signs a deed to his modern name,
occupational occupant.
The call of it so mildly phenomenal hearers
hear it heard.
He might but he hasn't yet said no.
He's run under with a blush concoction.
Douglas look overshoulder.
My humiliation.
He dips as into his coma, our agreement."