February 25, 2003 - 11:39 p.m.
city
my head is maitland, just east of Jarvis,
a city street where cars grind against the pavement, speeding instead of slowing in the face of pedestrians,
we are all rushing,
in a hurry to be relaxed, to be there, to have arrived.
my head swells with new thoughts, settles in old thoughts, content now that our disagreement is behind me...
streetwalkers, transvestite boys, looking pretty as death in their lewd performances, more frightened than any girl i'd ever seen on a dark street,
targets for men to expunge both desire and hatred, a kind women see but are protected from in words like marriage and sisterhood,
these girls are no ones sisters,
i feel safe walking here amongst the walking workers, parading for their daily bread, nightly ovens hot with false desire, painted signs scream
come on, come on,
you know i know you want it...
in this bed, i sleep you into being,
though thoughts prostitute themselves for my attention, i've walked streets at night, sometimes loathing the trick i will find, the trick that will find me out,
the door that will open to let me inside is rarely the door you have in mind, not the castle you've been looking for all your life...
but what am i saying?
these words, like our argument, are about the human cost,
i never realized there could be an opposition to changing the world, for the better,
like saying the sky is blue,
who needs to argue differently?
for our purposes, for the convenience of paint swatches and children's first drawings, that line must be blue,
sky blue,
because no child wants the sky to be gray,
red, purple or green,
perhaps,
but never gray,
i told you then, that to know me,
you must know this,
you must understand that i am strong, but your words of contempt for shared fate, for social conscience,
mocking my sense of responsability...
shatter me.
I am doing the best i can,
would trade that seventh 50 thousand dollar car for one sign of hope,
but as it stands i've never even had the first, never had that 50 to call my own,
I want to climb, but not for their prices, not at the expense of human life,
how, when one sits on more than one can reasonably use in a lifetime, once they've taken care of their own, can you say,
i don't have the power to change this?
How can you sit on that money and feel satisfied, watching death parade on your lawn?
The delicate boys hips, sway like reeds, in heels never meant for human feet,
they are our demons, our reminder,
like the ads on tv and the banner in my mind that tears away my brain,
and makes me want to sleep this noise away,
The heels on pavement are a clock ticking time we don't measure,
we are all "sophisticated idlers" in a hurry to arrive, to read, to eat, to live...
in a hurry to die...
making our lives mean something,
definition doesn't come cheap...
I think,
as your sleeping arms pull me closer,
I am yours, only after i've pulled myself away,
long enough to remind myself
that there are things that i know
and hate myself for knowing...and still being able to sleep.
