It's a Sunny Day!

[NOTE: no smokes, no freedoms or privileges; a filched pencil, a sadistic head shrinker, and too much time I'll never get back.  That's 12 days in the psych ward, fool, straight up 51/50 - status 939 to apply the modern vernacular. But I'm back, alive.

[This is a poem about a New York power couple from the last century, an excerpt from the upcoming Maimonides Papers.]

"Mrs. von Bulow, your husband called.

You and he are to dine at Greely Square at noon."

"That's all?" And she laughs her bell-like laugh.

She deliberates little before she dons

A Pucci shawl, accenting her slim shoulders. 

Then, earrings... Sunny need barely pause at the mirror -

She adjusts nothing. At the car, the driver 

Smiles, opening the rear door, timed just so...

Her greatest love she is off to meet. "He is mine!"

She crows, unfurrowed and serene. (Happiness has the swiftest feet...)