Monday, April 23, 2007

You shall inherit my wind


It’s wise to wear your best iron mask while
waiting for your better half to ask you to
the dance. You can’t hand your doppelganger
a bouquet of flowers. There was no Happy
Hour at Agincourt, when the French were
overwhelmed. My mother used to say you
can’t get ice cream w/ your slice of life.
Do you too believe everything you hear? Fear,
you know, is the coin of the realm. I really
do really like you! I remember when you tried
to make your royal pain available to me. You
failed. Then we wrote the same thing on
our blogs, about how Twister used to be known
as “sex in a box.” We might be astral twins,
Spastic. Your slang has to be hardboiled if
you want to be a good journalist. The only law
is: the law is elastic. By day, you pose as
a flaneur; by night, you’re sitting on the floor,
cutting the eyes out of all the photos. Guess
what--you won another popularity contest,
b/c you’re so full of yourself & so cocksure.
Did we both have the same dream? Hand
in hand, prancing down pavement encrusted
w/ pavé diamonds. I’m not a prince anymore
& I’ve finally given up on girls named Chiara
wearing tiaras. Magical things happen here,
in this wooded land. Whatever I find hidden in my
hoodie, I chuck off the balcony. I didn’t savor
your report--it had the academic crunch of high-
school French. Don’t make fun but: I thought
of fish: on the last sheet in the ream: one
word: fin. It’s hard being king. Sometimes I
get smashed like a finger in the door. Like
you wouldn’t believe. All this has been yours
since the day you were born & even before.