Thursday, November 6, 2014

GROOMED AND DOOMED (a poem)

GROOMED AND DOOMED
He  shaves therefore he is
the smoothest
visage for a
culture of spectacle that
dives behind the signs in the
road and snap cameras at him
that sound like silverware
being moved around a place
setting for the hungry world
that cannot consume his likeness
fast enough.

She wears clothes
 three sizes
too small,
eats only a third of what's
any plate she holds,
hangs a mirror on both
sides of every door
she is going through,
all this resulting
in an outline against
her living room curtains
that gets harder to see
as it shrinks
like hot plastic,

The two of them miss each other
in the morning
when it's the time
to take the day again,
he waxes his arms
to get rid of hairs
that look like
shadows that add
the look of pounds
the yield of years,
he'll lift weights
and walk for miles
on a rotating track
while yelling orders
into a cell phone
to buy, sell,
we'll get those sons of bitches,
and with all this,
the headache will not abate,
the throb
pulses and he feels something
popping in his head, a vein about to burst,
his brain on fire
with drugs
commanding the nervous systems
to drive itself insane,
he walks faster, he yells
louder, the stock market data
streams by him in a blur,
he dreams for a moment he's
in a parade
and has no idea why anyone
is cheering, gee, he thinks,
where did these pearly gates come
from,
and then
all he sees is the floor
coming up after him,
hitting him in the face,
he thinks,
my hair, oh god,
my hair...

She empties the Kleenex dispenser
to fill out a bra, rids herself
of eyelashes and then
plies the soft pencil
from the far sides of her brow
to the ridge of her nose
that shoots up and out,
petite and almost vanishing
as she stares at herself
again in the mirror, before
turning off the light,
a preview of what the world
sees in passing from
rushing bus windows,
from office buildings,
from restaurants
as she'll be carried along
with the hustle and tugging
insanity of crowds,
carried off into
perspectives until
she blurs in the background,
becomes the background,
vanishes already together
as she erases herself
in a dash for lean, flawless beauty.

They drink
the undrinkable,
kiss
lips that are
flush with
market research and
laboratory results.

Then they
make their way
back to the
layouts
that made them
such strange creatures
with body types

that shouldn't happen
to Frankenstein’s monster.

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