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The older I grow, the more I find myself alone.
Alberto Giacometti

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I’d like to lock myself
in a lonely garret.
I like the sound of that —
very bohemian.
Giotto, Giacometti,
they had all the answers.

I’ll call upon my muse,
Splash paint with abandon.
Then I’ll be discovered —
fancy vernissages,
paparazzi wherever I go.
My life won’t be my own.

Vacations, Côte d’Azur.
Then there’ll be the movie stars,
parties, entertaining,
guest appearances — Oprah
(a conversation hog).
I won’t jump on the couch!

Tabloids making up lies.
Wonder why I bother.
Think I’ll dump the garret.
I need my old life back —
privacy, sanity.
What’s a garret, anyway?

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