by alice yobby
All the popular songs say there is somewhere to hide,
"Oh call my name," so call my name.
I'm looking for something and you know where it is.
Your mood will be terrible and it will all be my fault.
Or you will feel fabulous, kick off your shoes, we'll embrace and fall
in gowns. Or play with costumes and heavy perfumes, perform our secrets, make with our bodies
shapes and tricky colors. I can find you
and that's incredibly beautiful, stunning, unique and fucking hot.
We'll sit silently, clean bread in dirty houses, sleep in
stains and talk and mornings.
I'm replying late and haven't seen you in ages
but thanks for all the money, tonight happened to me
like a question, predictable and
without answers. I'm sitting upright, just so you know.
I drank a gallon of water. I promise and when have I lied
to you, never.
Sorry, I do feel you and your warm mouth waiting, slow breath
worried, I'll stand but I
lose my mind. And would take good news but can't find it and I only pick the weeds.
& ride the bus. & lend each other our seats. & I write,
& you worry about cages. But I don't keep secrets,
I don't, instead there are murderers, wonder
(to remember life) who
ignore their plenty wars since it's so easy,
life. Stepping quickly past bodies,
simple (to wear their bodies) bodies stand periodically
without questions, invisible and mistaken,
simple dead bodies to buy their shoes. It's sad what god decided but you can
go ahead eating what you want and fucking meanwhile
we create the earth and with our heads pray it gets done.
alice is a poet and vagabond. this is her first poem.