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Dinner Party by Nathan from Exhaust Fumes and French Fries

Let's drink. Let's eat. Let's tell
stories incomplete like life.
Let's be open, embrace and
fight across the table. Let's talk.

Describe a fantasy, a fable:
"He was thirty when his mind
was bent, broken off like a
key in a lock.

Till then life was a plumb line
snapped in chalk, able to be
plotted point by point. A precious
fantasy of an infinite sum."

We know life is an ellipse. We
orbit a central question, spin
and...wait, let me clarify...

"He was thirty when his mind was
sent to the salt mines, when it
began to lean like a drunken uncle
being helped to bed."

Wait, let me clarify what I
said...

Let's eat. Each night we set
a place for peace just in case.
Let's talk openly, face to face.
This is not a dress rehearsal.
Continue the halting stutter, the
sudden reversal. Let assurances
float and flutter like leaflets from a
propaganda bomb.

If I could remember what I meant...

Let all portable machines go silent.
It's time to eat. Granite and pine
bark, soil and sea water, our menu
is complete.

"He was thirty when his mind
was bent. He spent nine years
building a replacement out of
copper wire, tin, gossip, art and lies."

We orbit. We mix and collide, volatile
compounds. Eyes are fixed on the question
the way people stare at magic tricks, the
way the slave stares at his dominatrix.

Let's eat. Let's eat. It's getting late.
Let's not be squeamish. Each reach
for an other's plate.

The question will not edify...please,
let me clarify...