Le Grand Masked Ball of Phantasmagoric Melbourne

            ‘Why no! It‘s but a mask, a lying ornament.’ – Baudelaire

Passersby, welcome!

To the rough music of charivaris,

the spectacle of the fragmented crowd,

New Victorian Gothic,

where Dior and St Vincent de Paul

social-distance, in frantic masquerade, 

strolling under the eaves of the Orangerie,

down Rue Danse Macabre. 

But oh! What elegant company!

Like opposing magnetic poles,

how we veer away from each other,

Poe in Red Masque,

Baudelaire in Black,

(who appraised black clothing

as the quintessential sign of modernity).

ZOOM with Shakespeare and Lear,

come now, in general equality,

to watch Beatrice dance with Benedick,

in Much Ado About Twitter,

SCREAM with Munch, 

(recall that he painted it, while infected),

and over there, in the eve,

the quarantined Boccaccio 

scribbling l’Umana commedia. 

Les Medames et Messieurs!

Let us emerge now from the abbey,

with hidden faces, altered personalities,

both concealing and revealing secret expressions. 

Come to Une Fête Galante!  

Au Bal Masqué! 

Follow La Fée Verte Virale 

into the Hall of Mirrors,

trailing lilac, spider net and tassel.

Lipstick not essential,

only kohl and a half-niqab.

Onward to the Mardi Gras of Memento Mori - 

‘remembering that we must die’ - 

Kings and Queens! Doges!

Dukes and Duchesses!

Marquises and Marchionesses!

Déguisez moi, chic follies,

with rich handkerchiefs of Guipure lace, 

star of pearls, white kid gloves and shoes.

Aux clowns de La République!

Le Beau Monde!