This poem arose from a roll of the Metaphor Dice: hope = silent + curse Those words fell away at some point, but their scent remains... Jackie O She dreamt I would be Caroline to her Jackie O. If Caroline worked at a foundation (for so said the New York Times), then I must work at a foundation. Never mind that she had no clue what a foundation was. A foundation was clearly an uptown castle for a princess desiring to give the appearance of working without actually exerting herself, doing discreetly philanthropic things without God forbid ever encountering an actual needy person. I would write tasteful prose, mingle with fellow philanthropists at Soho gallery receptions— always in pearls, and Italian shoes— on weekends jetting to the Hamptons or the Vineyard to be seen at cocktail parties, caftan flowing, makeup artfully applied to appear natural. This was the life she dreamt for