can we not supersize the Mickey D combis
can we stop being Aberzombies
can we exchange our Armani
Chrissy Lou-wearing lasses looking bonny
liking mamas looking hoochie with their Gucci
fake Fossils found in the study of Anthropologie
Prada Fendi Dior Cavallie
people thinking they speak a foreign tongue
people chock full of affluent dung
close the Gap and stop being Forever 21
Diesel in our monster trucks
Diesel with our Chucks
lame ducks run amok with jeans full of Luck
fallin' like Dominos while consuming Mangos
can you hear the Holl[ow]ster EckÅ?
the H+M got us bound like S+M
FCUK CK DKNY FUBU FUBAR too far
no wonder we grew up on the Phat Farm
trusting an Old Navy to defend us
Dior worship can't transcend us
take a Guess what's gonna end us
reOutfit the Urbana
stop thinking the only Republic is Banana
splitting Sundays into stun days
stop wasting the C.R.E.A.M. in our Starbeezys
learn to go easy breezy
stop thinking Hugo is the Boss
what's the Lacoste?
Thursday, October 7, 2010
A New Room in a Smaller City
(I just moved to a smaller city, so I've been writing a lot about that transition):
Let the cats trace the margins of your attention with their ribs, let them play with the thin plume of newness that flickers across the living room floor, where light takes the shape of a cathedral and passing car horns sound like prayers. Let your mind unfurl its attention like a white flag of surrender, let it loosen its tethers and release poems. A new town can do that, spread its arms wide and reveal hidden plumage. Small town felicity will mend your jewelry free of charge and stop for pedestrians in the cross-walk, provide piles of good maps, but will it unmask itself? In this town you smile at every face like yours and search for life on the railroad tracks. In this room the insistent growl of motorcycles outside swallows the stillness of your desk lamp. All the poetry born into this room will be tinged with the gray-brick loss of one city and the amber discovery of another.
Let the cats trace the margins of your attention with their ribs, let them play with the thin plume of newness that flickers across the living room floor, where light takes the shape of a cathedral and passing car horns sound like prayers. Let your mind unfurl its attention like a white flag of surrender, let it loosen its tethers and release poems. A new town can do that, spread its arms wide and reveal hidden plumage. Small town felicity will mend your jewelry free of charge and stop for pedestrians in the cross-walk, provide piles of good maps, but will it unmask itself? In this town you smile at every face like yours and search for life on the railroad tracks. In this room the insistent growl of motorcycles outside swallows the stillness of your desk lamp. All the poetry born into this room will be tinged with the gray-brick loss of one city and the amber discovery of another.
ADVICE
Dear women,
Get him now, while he is still a hopeless romantic.
Now, while he will still cross the nation for you.
Now, while he wraps memories in flowers,
while his heart still has room,
while he is in the mood to find words in your hair,
braid them together on a roadside,
on a boat,
in a basement
somewhere.
There, at that moment,
should you have a chance,
you should love him.
Get him now, while he is still a hopeless romantic.
Now, while he will still cross the nation for you.
Now, while he wraps memories in flowers,
while his heart still has room,
while he is in the mood to find words in your hair,
braid them together on a roadside,
on a boat,
in a basement
somewhere.
There, at that moment,
should you have a chance,
you should love him.
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