THE OBLOMOVIST


his pale, soft and slender fingers
embraced the golden chalice,
feeling, not without some dismay,
the dents and scratches left
by years of neglect....the tarnished surface was rough beneath his touch...

instinctively, he released the ancient vessel, watching it plummet to the cold marble floor.....
He watched the spilt wine, an ancient cognac of indistinctive origins, flowing like thin blood, luminous upon the white stone......recalling that, long ago, the ancient servants had mixed the fine napoléon with lesser castes....and this only brought to mind distasteful remembrance.......His heavy lids parted that he might observe a pair of emaciated rats escaping the crashing noise.....scurrying into an old bouile clock that had stopped a century ago........there was no need to measure time......tomorrow would be the same........