Vermut Ataman/Passage du Commerce
bitter honey on the rocks
a fire in my place
Balthus pulls back the curtain
he was fourteen and i was ten
(if only i could stay this age forever)
adrift, on a sea of ice in suburbia
what the hell, Siberia
slipping into virtual passages
virginal commerce, shrouded side doors
a stage, in development
a drama, a dream, perhaps
a Freudian interpretation,
child’s play, a simulacrum, or a (mere)
fantasy?
