Hipster.A Poem by V.B.I spent all my indie cred on a six-pack of PBR.
we can just sit here for awhile, and obsess,
like two rain men in the sweltering urban summer; sporting scarves that are just thick enough to be the only things capable of containing the irony of our beards. we can maliciously lead one another further and further into the kind of conversational labyrinths that guys like us devise for the expressed purpose of tripping up anyone shortsighted or foolish enough to even bother attempting to navigate them, and the dim glow of the logo on your macbook will obfuscate (on the undersized glass table between us) the already blurry reflections of andy warhol, some bands we liked before they were cool, and offbeat local angels with glasses that echo every anachronism of our facial hair with twice the appeal and half the discomfort. you probably won't even look up at me in time to appreciate how truly trendy we are, because offering witticisms to the void about the superiority of vinyl and the lost art of journalism requires no eye contact. in the meantime, i'll be writing poems with words like "obfuscate" and "anachronism," and imagining perfect secrets swirling just beneath the styrofoam lid of my latte-- ones that could give me the confidence to approach the queen of the coffee shop, sitting cross-legged and unconcerned with kerouac behind the counter, just to let her know that i wasn't too self-consumed to be enamored with her talent for ignoring everyone who returns here day after day in an obvious bid to impress her with a hopelessly unapparent lack thereof, while simultaneously--effortlessly--dissolving any legitimacy our ethos ever had like a sugar cube into her chai tea. if i ever get the courage to pull the lid off and accept that responsibility, i'll be sure to let you, and everyone i know, know. (or maybe i'll just lie.) © 2011 V.B.Featured Review
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Added on March 30, 2011Last Updated on March 30, 2011 Author
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