and we all looked. i even smiled.
"you can blame it on the drugs," everyone said.
"he doesn't do drugs," i replied.
i didn't even care to show you how happy i am. didn't feel any need to tell you that hey, there is a boy. and when we are together, it is good. it is right. it is beautiful. and it does exist. what does that mean?
now i can see you in color: black and blue.
like an eternal purple chicken.
a clown.
a baboon.
made your way into the wrong pen, barred to soon.
but have another hamburger, have another boy, all that you can. pretend for the patrons that wait in line for your hand that sanity comes easy...
...sanity comes easy
for fuck-ups.
i want you to be whole. be real.
now unconsciousness-past and unconsciousness-future and nightmares and bricks, with their rolled up horoscopes and prada bags and maybelline and notably not their bottle of skyy vodka, are lining up single file ... naivete and rainbow sprinkles and old bitter grounds and WTF!!s and atheism are all poised under the lighted exit sign, prodding the door open with a big toe, or a ring finger, or an empty palm ...
and you
and they
will join hands
into a content,
malcontent
mass.
i embrace that mass.
it is.
(exit them, in various guises.)
(exit you.)
.
goodnight
1 comment:
"This is the one." The universe assures me from behind the counter.
"But I thought you said the last one was the one." I reply.
"No." Says the universe. "I sold you that one so you would know that this, this is the one."
"Is there another one?" I ask the universe.
"I can't tell you." They reply. "It'd ruin the surprise."
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