Did Ghislaine, Jeff, Donald, Willy-Bo, Adair and the so many others find a home at 9 East 71st Street?
Does it matter our elite know only “homes away from home”? Does it matter if the idea of a “home away from home” strains the meaning of home?
Others to include a remarkable assortment of the most homely of folk, including…
Was it a good time, were the guests comfortable?
Was the massage table, where ordinarily a dining room table might have been (found)
The round table of the elite of the elite; massage out in the stable, the status quo, the rearing white horse, talking like Mr. Ed, of course, the elite of the elite of the elite of a democracy of a democracy of a democracy. Going round, round, round, like the world which is round, and a table (of representations)
The massage of the massage, the elite massage of the massaging elite, the stable status quo, the stable hand, that little guy with the fragile, New Orleans jazz band, blowing and wailing, improv on an air of G, possibly minor gee,
Hang your heads o’er Ghislaine, Jeff, Donald, Willy-Bo, Adair and the so many others, hear the guillotine blow, trumpet requisitioned from a Yankee yard sale abandoned.
Spam of Human Affection 
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