Thursday, December 29, 2016

Agent of the Sun - Day 27 - Sara Dowse

Agent of the sun,
I’d called him,
because he gave hope
to actors,
wore aviator shades
and borrowed suits
from Barney’s.

Tinsel town
was his town
all the way
in La La Land
was his way.

The actors he knew:
Sophia, Claire,
dropping their names
like rose petals
on the floor at Ivy.

It’s a town where
the act is de rigeur,
phony because it is.
Everybody has to.
The factory of dreams,
coughing up routinely
your standard ratings cliché.

You should have seen it,
the bowing, the scraping -
like royalty, those stars.
I saw it too: abruptly
the voices silent, clatter ceasing
as they took leave
of theatres,

But then the young ones,
saddest of Cinderellas,
bought and sold,
chewed up, spat out.
They trashed him too 
until, rubbing his eyes, 
he woke one day, 
stopped pretending,
and, following its arc,
found his true sun.

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