INSPIRED POEM (generated from)
MITCHEL BULLOCK’S e-mail on 2/20/04
ON SUPERVIJAGRA



SOJOURN at THE MARGUERITE INN

It all began during my sojourn at the
Marguerite Inn, in that little hillbilly town
of Charlottesville.

Where I just wanted a little reprieve
from my doldrum routines and existence
and to collect my thoughts.

I felt maniacal the day that I registered
and I reserved a room for several days.

I turned, with the key in my hand
and at that very moment
the bellman’s hand seemed to
caress my hand
as he took the
key from me.

As if knowing my distress
he then
took my only piece of luggage,
a black, indiscrete
duffle bag.

He looked into my eyes with his
faustian grin, and at once,
he became my Pegasus,
a mercenary brother
who would assure my safety
and sanity
to my haven, my Abyssinia
on the 5th floor,
of bergamot and noeroli.

He had a cosmopolitan air
about him and I could tell
he was no idiot,
proficient In speech
as he spoke with finesse
and with the vestige
of a Bostonian accent.

I had noticed an absence of
a southern drawl
as I queried about his nationality
and of course
he informed me
that he had grown-up
In Boston,
with Irish immigrant
parents.

He had also lived in Chicago, Illinois
and had made a pilgrimage
to Bombay India with a friend.

He had visited Indonesia, and
had lived abroad for several years
in Germany and France.

During our brief ride in the elevator
he informed me
that next door to the inn
was the extraordinary, O’dwyer’s pizzeria
and the Blue Note Lounge
where I could get
a cordial, champagne or
whatever I desired.

Once into my chamber,
my fortress of Camille,
I felt the proliferate
incantation
of the gypsy poet.

In the midst of my gladdened haze,
I felt the lack of oxygen,
creating a feverish blain
inside my head.

For the percussion of Horace
had assaulted the imagery
of my mind.

I flung myself down onto
the mattress, feeling faint.

By this time, my body’s reactant
to all the stimuli, hence from
the bellman –
made my limbs feel numb and wobbly,
as a child in the throws of Illness.

I now realized,
I was not only maniacal
but my mental sight
was perspicacious with presages
of a harbinger.

If I had only brought my horoscope
and transits,
which
at this moment,
I badly wanted to investigate.

What planetary influence was I under?

Surely, Neptune and Pluto were
beaming their rays
into my psyche.

Creating some altered state
in my
dimensional reality.

I lay in the bed
for what seemed to be an eternity,
trying to clarify my thoughts.

Suddenly, I realized
that I badly needed a cocktail
at the Blue Note Lounge.

This bellman,
with his Bostonian accent
had become my emperor,
my gladiator in chariot,
who had rescued my psyche
from the asperity of death.

This was indeed,
clandestine,
my visit
to the Marguerite Inn.

I chuckled to myself
feeling purged
and realizing
that life was indeed
strange
and facinating.

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Spam words used: horoscope mercenary
Faustian proficient chicago camille pilgrimage india
Clandestine Irish brethren cosmopolitan Abyssinia
extraordinary bergamot finesse Illinois Boston feel
Pegasus hence gypsy harbinger faint emperor chariot
chamber beguile maniacal immigrant assault incantation
Horace idiot feverish Charlottesville marguerite hillbilly
mattress child reactant bellman admitting oxygen
newfound gladden carry gladiator midst cordial numb
pizzeria o’dwyer imagery Indonesia prosodic asperity
perspicacious proficient