the human eye barely catches
the vision obscured by the moral sunglasses
which somehow surpasses the shinning blunders shielded;
the melting pot has melted and everyone is everywhere; separate but fair?
pistols sovereign; dirty hands, sanguine eyes dressed in suit and ties
skyscrapers do just that, scrape the sky
felicity finds not; its blind
sour citrus clementines peel
like the human form
the sweetest fruit brings the worst kind of flies
the predators predating one’s passions preface the predominate;
its life, a gauntlet; thrown gloves and duels,
sacrilegious scarecrows with gang tats and cornrows
lines these streets
its on sale!
the pavement pounds like heart beats
for once we’re alive - partially
look like, be like, see like; its shark week
and everyone is chum, yum
trends treadmill, we’re running but we stand still
smoke our cigarettes, play our games
we’re tamed, maimed, enflamed - ash
she liked to litter
little pieces of herself
in the things she did
she looked at the room of eyes quizzically
she made her flourishes science;
her steps questions; art, she peeled the world in her movements
she sorted good from the lost, the evil from the clean,
she moved; she danced; she grooved
lost in the time golden; boogie,
truncating herself into three minutes
naked never bare she bared but never cared
eyes stared unaware brevity enclosed;
encapsulated the prose of her asymmetry
three minutes be damned
move; dance; grove
her music never stops
new technology this, 3d that,
I don’t get it;
typewriters were the first 3d printers
and they came out like forever ago.
what if beauty wasn’t a definition but an outcome?
a sad one’s best hiding place is among the happy;
they will think you one of them, the happy,
they have no idea how easy it is to twist a grimace into a smile;
a cry into laughter, a disappointment into a life;
for them it’s unfathomable, yet second nature,
for the rest of us its an art form, a deft maneuver, a mechanism through which the world is consumed and digested; a placebic missive against the colossal nothing, I guess really for some happiness might not be the cure, but the symptom.
footsteps; dirty jeans
they were shuffled
jacks and queens
everywhere was two faces
there were high heels and skater shoes
with the extra wide shoelaces
seats were scarce; musical chairs
paradoxically impaired
going backwards - forwards
on a conveyor belt of stares
who stops? what where?
turned and looked there
they’re wearing diamonds on the way to the club
cause they’re hearts were spaded; they were stronger scared
scarred from a broken home turned from a full house of pairs
and there he sat the same boy with a gameboy, unawares
unmotivated; innocent; clean; live life? we should all be jealous, lucky, fair
your life is a story
you write for others
but read for yourself
there was august in her face
it was waiting to fall;
she was no longer her own
she was lost
a runaway
she had been given wings
she could not stay
this place displaced
she gathered her things and checked her phone
then her professor’s face
at that moment she concluded
her make up could wait