Which is the when is the where is the why?
I’ll spend most of my life indoors, and if I’m lucky,
I’ll have windows in my office.
Turn around and walk out the door slowly, you’ll need to
Take that one last look. If it was that cigarette you took,
You owe me one- bring it back.
I wish I had fur and leather and kohl to protect me
From any future harm, a smog of perfume and dirty
Smoke to make me less vulnerable, tall boots whose studs
Would protect me from heartbreak with the message they’d
Convey, a feline atrocity, a distinctive animosity that will steer
Bringers of harm away with one silent look, and a breath they
Took, that spits blood into the chilling air.
If there was enough black eyeliner in the world to prevent my
True eyes from seeing, I’d buy it all and stock up for those pallid
Wintry months. I’d wrap myself in elevated ideas, mink and astrakhan,
Let no mention of sentimental pain touch me, I, veiled, in that apartment high up,
far from
The city streets of commotion and chance for car accidents, pedestrian run-overs
And spontaneous acts of violence,
And drink the world’s supply of scotch. In my boudoir we’d discuss
The difference between jealousy, love and lust, and pushkin’s proud paramours,
the gray lines of tatiana’s trust.
Strangers flood me and wander through my displays, they cause ruin and wreckage,
They ask questions about things I can’t explain.
I, singular, me.
Being alone is like building immunity- you do it slowly, surely, safe from pitfalls
You can’t afford.
6/30/08
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