I done with the taboos
here, and the surrender
or queers, or the fat
straight ones to the creeping ignoring
of emotional responsibility to anyone.
Gentle little prat, from Pratt
or Parsons
FIT, or RISD,
or SCAD, or the nearly albino fag
compact in the cowboy plaid shirts
who went to Sarah Lawrence
and comes back
to the high school
he knows well, as
fine arts educated
English teacher, who
just loves middle-english literature.
who rolls a joint from time to time, who
dates a ceramicist, and is an amateur
photographer, pornographic model, or
actor.
And the Art Deco remnants
of any and all generations
fall. The glittering gilt facades
and the glass veined with iron tubing
when the cock of some fit junior
at a flash falls out of his mouth
and finds it's way to social network,
and turns into neo-classical wreck
but postmodern;
White walls going higher, and peaking
out the sort of a spire of blocky top of columns,
windows.
Old avatar, or teenhood mentor
seen from peaking out that parapet;
a speck
grown smaller, and
growing, growing smaller.
And after silent thai food dinner
made themself a steaming pitcher
of coffee, and began the new trek
of coming back together through disgust.
