I have been considering the oddities
involved in meeting someone new.
Perhaps a dinning hall your sophomore year,
or at a frat party down a few blocks away
from your dorm, that house where rumbles
can’t be told apart from a passing el or a deep
base line. And the approach, an awkward intro
that inevitably leads me to shake, twitch my smile,
and say something just out of place enough to
make her uncomfortable. I regress, wish I hadn’t
said a thing and wish I never met her as soon as her
GPA becomes apparent. I wish I never met her
the moment I approached, when I realized,
for a brilliant spilt of a second, that I am not
the man my father was. I am the man that lies
beyond a crowded dance floor, gazing gently
into a passing girl’s eyes, just drowning for
a smile in my careful direction.
—ambling through the hall
her graceful manner—
positively marvelous today among the
among the pupils,
among the plaques
and chipped pain of t
d catholic school.
she saw the
tramps, and niggers, homosexuals
, and sadists.
she saw the
priests basking in sin
, she saw the lonesome birth
of a child,
the death of a nation.
she tilted her head
to the side,
and began to convulse
—it was such a time
just as the poor
little son of christ
approached her ear and whispered
midnight loves, forever,
the stains of saints
fallen behind the clouds
of charlie and I’s
lost romantic novel,
the sanctity of throats.
of horror and
insomnious apathy. )
so close your eyes,
my sweet yasmin,
(for I too am enthralled
I don’t have a drinking problem. I have a sober problem.
a stretch to sky,
she is slightly
I just want to meet someone whom I can have a fucking semi-intellectual conversation with.