IV. The Pied-à-Terre

"'For Your Eyes Only.' You always forget,
Though you even shot the album portrait.
She dated Prince, which is, like, royalty."
"I thought she said she came from Lockerbie.
Did she get to be a Bond girl? That's fun!"
"No, but she was projected on his gun."
"'For Your Eyes Only,' isn't that dirty?"
"Her sales, when she dropped her virginity,
Increased significantly. By the way
There's an important message from LA:
Some new troubles for director Rinse Dream
Threaten Cafe Flesh 's debut on screens
In the US at the end of summer,
And what's more, the promo we did!" "Bummer!"

Cafe Flesh,  being that landmark picture
That used a professional admixture
Of technical skills and screenwriting chops
In an adult film for the moms and pops
Who live in America's mainstream core
Who saw 9.5 Weeks and wanted more.
Who were thrilled by Last Tango and muttered,
"Is there one with less Brando and butter?"
They even watched Don't Look Now  but missed it
When what looked just like Donald got Christied
They did picket Last Temptation of Christ
But skimmed through Last Exit to Brooklyn,  twice.
After the Disco era and New Wave,
They were primed for something in poorer taste.

The film had what they called back then a plot,
Damnedest thing, see if you figure it out:
About a future, post-calamity
Where most of the humans are casualties,
Victims of a gas or germ or something,
That prevents the sex drive from working.
For 95 percent of the public,
Thoughts of sex make them sick to their stomachs
And they're forced to dah-rool for the others
Who still have a spark in the armature.
Some say the story was based on data,
Others that it was just a metaphor;
For some, the frank show of sex made them sick,
Others went grabbing for the nearest prick.

The constant heartache for what we can't fix:
Endless repetitions of guilt-free sex.
Whether enemy, lover, or Mother,
We crave a solution to The Other.
We have to know on a certain level
We can still win hearts or raise the devil,
One more in a long line of selfish acts,
Designed to make us forget stubborn facts.
We can't retrieve youth through a spell portal
And no one of us, babe, is immortal;
Ah, the diff'rence between men and women:
One fights death's pang by nurturing children,
The other with a thirst for planting them
That drags on, like the National Anthem.