Monday, January 05, 2015

Lights, Cameras, Rotten Cheese

Smile big, the
camera is
on. This could be your big break
says the oil-soaked, Gucci-battered
demon caressing platinum. You buy into
the lie even though 
even you know of your own lack 
of talent so drunk on kernels
and seeds
that embryos suffice where
life fails to spring. Swallow,
I shall, if the need, um, say
arises. Hard, and in your face and impossible
to forgive or ignore. So, an
apology is in order to every
woman I’ve bedded, wrapped, entangled,
ensnared or otherwise
enchanted. Why, I became you
perspective, and felt that unforgiving
hand on the back of my head
pushing, choking, taking
dignity in strokes. You,
We, and I excited by the animal’s attention, yet
demeaned by their feeding. Their hollow
sweat and abandoned hairs
singing no songs of
morning. But I got the
gig and now I can be a star, and I’ll shine
so bright that all that goddamn filth, puke
and semen will sizzle off my skin like angels
bathing in glorious light. Purified, I
am. Rationalized, you are. Sanctified,

Breathe, in oms, avocado skies and mint water smoothies.

How does it feel under those lights, skin melting, eyes
adorn. They all devour you now. Forever soaked into the collective is
your _______.

You know, but it must not be spoken. The lie, so obvious - so agreed, must remain so, because rainbows can only exist as an illusion surfing mist. Just like your goddamn star.