Walk with me
And we will pass the ugly places.
The vistas that no ferries go.
Perhaps there will be sound:
Simple, cut down piano chords,
Or the crashing of waves,
A lonely trumpet.
There will be drink and dance.
The lights will be purple and they will sting our eyes.
Our mouths will dry and our stomachs will rumble.
They will dance for us,
Take off their clothes,
And, for $2.99 a minute,
We will watch them finger and grumble.
We will lie on our backs
Protected—we think—by a screen
And we will imagine them,
Far away,
Thumping and slobbering in the dark
Of a rented apartment.
Rented to them by a man who is paid,
We don’t want to know how.
They will speak broken English,
The better to trick us with.
They will have babies
And they will have them in front of us.
We will be taught things that
We didn’t want to be taught
And we will slobber too
Into each other’s hands
Or into the towel
Or into the hole of our own belly buttons.
We will crawl through openings
Call it the universe.
And we will see things
That cannot be unseen,
Come with me.
They will not be exactly what we imagined them to be.
It won’t be their fault.
We will lie ruined and drained,
Jizzumed and smutted,
Until we can lay no more.
Perhaps we will sleep,
A tossing, fidgety sleep full of train dreams,
Baby-eyed dreams,
Cleft-lipped dreams,
Cut-down-piano dreams.
Then maybe we will wake,
Poorer and more human than before,
Bleary and dark,
We will remember what we have done.
But we will orphan the memory.
Behind the glass screen it will stay
And we will tell no one,
It will be secret.
Birthed into the world years later as fiction.
But we will know the truth:
That deep in a buried and disjointed heart,
Resting in the sound of strange trumpets,
Lies our embarrassing unseemliness.
People will believe that we are good
But we are not
We are good at disguises

More: Poetry

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