someday maybe I'll stop feeling like
some graceless horse in my
clopping shoes, hunched over in the one way city windows,
like I'm the only person in the world with a blister on her toe.
I'm downtown all the time now
with everyone else in wrinkle free bizz caj.
i hook them all in the eye when i walk by
because I want to see through to
some fierce american escape dream.
i'm holding the whole population to some standard of passion
and I am very demanding,
with my purge style urge to surge fire honesty
from the sickest little twittering atom in me,
to keep defining REAL! me every instant,
like my self-summary could be left behind in the form of flipbook
that makes a sad mute film until you can rip
it apart and there are 1000 distinct, all ugly raw sketches.
I think I understand
that I'm no bastion of anything in this world
and there's nothing I ever felt that's unique,
so i'm looking for the flames and the facts.
in all the rightest wrong spots,
between his banana republic buttons,
swept back in her pony tail
tucked like a penny in his loafers.
these are people walking somewhere, from somewhere, for some reason
and something's got to be jostling between
the briefcase and the body,
between the lens crafters frames and the
flattened nose bridge.
I want to ask banana boy about his worst sexual fantasy
and why on earth he went to law school
ponygirl about her ugliest compulsion and her first marriage
loaf about his biggest baddest secret
just so I know all these facts exist
and are juicy and hot and dirty and real.
I want to ask! me,
walking hunched in my thong and my blue dress
yanking my bangs from one side to another,
with a whole laundry list I'm stifling that I always to just vomit
at some random stranger,
whose pupils I harass with mine until i feel normal.
Maybe it's just my response to
living in a world where I can tap out
"how to make yourself puke" into a small white bar
and 200,000 people are instantly ready to help me.
i'm holding the whole world to some standard of passion
and I am very demanding.
are you ready to help me?
Comments
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"so i'm looking for the flames and the facts.
in all the rightest wrong spots,
between his banana republic buttons,
swept back in her pony tail
tucked like a penny in his loafers."
simple part but so much meaning.
and they say the eyes say so much, but they never do, its overrated.
greattwrite -
fantastic
well now, you've certainly captured passion in this piece. i love the tone, the diction is captivating, and the enjambment trots along without missing a beat. you've got the same fire for life, to know it, live it, and see it in everyone and everything around you that the pent up poets of the Harlem Renaissance exploded onto the scene with in the 20's and 30's. so very nicely done! keep lookin' into their eyes darlin'; they're bound to look back sometime. peace
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