Authority

Ugly does live.
It's average, it makes itself readily available
and it is everywhere, it is.

I am stuck in an elevator down to the street.
With a simpleton, who I cannot bear to make eye contact with anymore,
and a girl who now claims herself a married woman.
I want to tell her, that everything she has celebrated is shit.
Only because of the way she celebrates it.

She knows nothing of the tales of our people,
with her bullshit disco lights, ample parents
happy that she settled for someone who allowed her true self out--

dull, misplaced, useless.
She did not heed the spark of love, of being whores for each other,
cause that's the only way, Uncle Henry says, don't you know...
spent her soft earned money on a dinner party
that she can never take back.

She is empty now, when she walks. She knows not
of real love.  Of selling the deed to your body to someone else's
being.  The thing is:

I have tried
tired
so hard, to experience empathy with them all
and feel the connection, the place and the moment
wherein they and I lose contact. About all this.

I try to allow for the fact that they just aren't as hard as me,
deviant a body as mine,
meticulously latticed a mind
bent for thought, pleasure and innocence at the same time.

Fine, but-

When they simply are silent, when they just
don't
get it.
I cannot for the life of all the people living inside me
See
What they witness instead.

It seems and feels like nothing at all.
Dead, dirty leaves that you forgot to water,
crawling up a gas lamp cylinder.
Tending to a house, which is not a home anymore
but just an empty building.

Don't tell them that they are ghosts.
They will just laugh at you, you know.

No matter.
The river knows our name, and runs clear for us
just the same as it did
before their being born made it unclear.
Unsaved.

I will save all those who ask for my help.

As for all them rest, well...

Good luck with the receptions, the home owners insurance
the new bedroom sets.

Who's really in charge here, after all, ourselves or the blood of those we take with us,
without them coming along for the ride.
And it Is just a ride, now.

Remember your sick bags.

M. Lucia