The middle-class white girl’s agonies include eating, filling teenage time
lone of our alloted love, and in the extremities of skin,
lips tinted and torn with frustration.
It’s such an absurd system of pleasantries we circulate through,
with our parents & retarded-down in our age group
We are flowering into society and boundless with charms,
with what grace in little vice.
There is an agony in anyone smiling more than we.
the proximity of a boy " excruciating.
the will to create a history from a birthtown bedroom never dies
So we wander, favoring night, swaying shadows on thin knees
pass through the pavement, silent turrets through gray-track tires and concrete
while trafficking gray wind beats into pink pores.
An agony in the insufferable uncouth & unhip churns of arbitrary noise
Passionate noise runs our clockwork… some punk avant-garde, metalopoly,
alt-tuned Internet radio straight from Scandanavia.
Music with the same slobbering metaphors and sawing guitars
an electric cello hollowed out in celestial squeal. It lifts me away.
And we are all destined, already trapped
in radio-oven hiss, dinging pots & pans.
I live each mirror-plated day
for the delight in red lips painted in impossible sheen
& the agony in trapped sharp-thistled eyes beneath.
We stare at the moon, and we know everything.
Our identities stretch the world over.
Trailing flannel tatters and chains, costumed up a dangerous princess
We play in lines of ink & glitter
yarn-hearts torn from our love-rot notebooks,
opened with crackling pasted tears.
We wait from safe boxed houses,
staring black windowpanes hanging in the wilderness
with revolving eyes enraptured in agony beneath.