i. the rule of pimpled privilege
when the eye-liner clique has snaked its orbit
from the pale water through a wan puddle:
(they were distractedly birthed
into a storm of thudding vacancy,
then mollified and pimpled
by sugary bursts of pebbly toast)
when the delta burst, black and prickly,
they pumped into the shaved paradise,
the end of cutesy splashy in yellow slickers-
the lost lash of false photographic glee
faded to the washed-out colors
of hazy dysfunctional memories
captured in scattered snapshots.
then the toy horn squawked annoyingly
and moistened, through the Manhattan afternoon,
the flowered shifts of graying aunts at play.
this we term awakening.
ii. when the pecking is paradox
devoid of magic, their end is marked,
but the chosen, bored, seek prey.
they mill and swagger and sweat and smoke,
birthing milky emotions of imminent doom:
their stomp is weak but artfully crass
against the pale of subdued classes
whose pronounced freckles telegraph
the innocence of speechless normality.
their styled screech of fake hurt is mirrored
in matte kohl and drama insipidly Gothic,
enacted by the coddled loiter.
an epic grasp climaxes with the eye roll
against distracted masters:
in private, they cry from heartbreak
and the streaks require Kleenex.
weep not, their metal too is chrome.
iii. the ivy league disgorges
here will strut the hallowed issue,
emitted from a line of chromed behemoths
piloted by efficient haircuts with spiky shoes,
braking in dried crotch day-planner overload,
rushing to a suck that pleases no-one
but masquerades as titillation in the suburbs
when the Martinis overflow into honesty
and labored raises conflate with nylon grins.
there are many ways to live.
iv. long in the art of suffering
in the way preferred by anatomy,
hierarchical submission is a tribe insane
despite its perfect grooming of hairs and suits.
it births a cruel that wilts a blooming smile
and crushes too the seeds of why.