The obsession of politics,
poetry of hopelessness.
I am not political but I vote.
I am not political but I care.
Oh god, I don't know what I'm doing.
My eyes are burning.
We are pissed.
We are angry.
We don't picket.
We don't trust.
We're not real.
Moments when I find myself walking in circles
knowing something's missing.
Something I should be doing.
Somewhere I need to be.
Turn it over.
Change one thing.
I've been asked if it's about letting go.
I wish I had my old records.
The ones I gave to my cousin.
I give my shit way.
Like I don't care, but I do.
My father gave me away.
It's the story of my family.
It lost my godfather in a sea of confusion.
Crept across me and my mother and my cousin.
Not the record cousin.
The first kiss cousin.
Fucked him up before he even knew
there was somebody to give him away.
So is my godfather, he is famous,
like star on Hollywood Boulevard famous.
I've let go many times
but the last time was in a hotel in Mexico.
Champagne floats across our lips
while his eyes are on my breasts.
Hugging is foreplay and talks of addiction the seduction. I'm ready to bail but at just the last moment he fucks me.
I hear creaks in the wood, something pattering on the roof,
the chimes banging into the side of the house,
my own heavy breathing.
I'm living in film where things move very slow
and I drift from room to room.
Sometimes with intention;
a call to make, a rug to vacuum, a dog to feed. Sometimes no intention;
moving paintings around, staring into the refrigerator,
going upstairs and just standing there.
Others times things move very fast
like shadows made by outside's light,
scurrying across the living room floor,
across the coffee table, across the couches,
over the dogs.
He pays attention to me.
He pays attention to me even when I'm not looking.