A new start,
Friends look at you
with wide eyes
erasing all the previous
times you had met
with this new time,
all from something simple.
Although going from
long flowing wavy
strawberry blond hair
to dark pixie short
brunette colored hair
is quite the difference...
but it's something fresh.
a few nights ago i saw a man
and wealthier probably -
than me on tv
being an expert
on what it doesn't matter -
in the same way it doesn't matter on what
miss world expounds.
her white teeth
and the gap
between her thighs
do the talking.
same way -
here was this guy:
i envied him nothing
it was dark brown and straight.
i wear it short
so nobody knows.
(it's just a thing.
shallow, i know).
the next morning,
i'm sitting in the barber's chair
telling the barber about this guy's hair
and how i wished i had it.
the barber's been cutting my hair for years now.
his name's tony
and he's a really sweet old guy,
who never speaks much,
never tries to impress
but he's wise.
like a lot of humble
and, so, he's snipping away
and i'm thinking my thoughts,
he's thinking his,
and we're just enjoying the quiet
as two men in agreement can
the late afternoon sunlight streaming in,
quiet street outside
and i'm looking at myself
thinking about this guy on tv
and tony says,
almost like he's talking
to his own scissors,
"you don't get everything.
but you work with what you get"
and i think to myself
"what the fuck is that supposed to mean, tony, you old asshole?"
and he continues on, unspeaking,
peaceful as a shepherd,
going serenely about his work,
as parts of me fall to the floor.
and every line in his beautiful old face is saying
"i might be old
but at least i'm not young".
The wind is suddenly
So interested in
She took a long razor
And cream, scraping
And slickly scratching
Under my shortest haircut.
I walk home with worn shoes,
Old music, and skin that’s never
Seen this part of the sun before.
Sheared, it shows
Its fuzzy filaments twisting
And spiraling as the air
Gives it pause.
I think of hands
Pulling back hair for lips.
Pale, quick hands today.
Sweet, dry lips.
I got a haircut a couple months ago
Just after I had the worst possible month of my life
And I guess it was almost symbolic
Because I was cutting ties and knots in my hair with what I had been killing myself over for the past year.
Strands of hair unruly way
Hair cut an adventure of the day
Scrolling through the models on book
pictures in mind to decide the look
Hair cut an adventure of the day
Through the times in a different way
young ones cry of the barbers scissor
A grim look of teen in the mirror
every hair cut in the heart a terror
Good or bad an haircut is an adventure
I've been sick for as long as I can remember;
which has been quite awhile,
Even longer has it been
since I last saw my mother smile.
But today is different.
I'm finally to be rescued from this bottomless rut,
Today the change comes in the form of a haircut.
I've spent sleepless nights
fantasizing about the style and length,
Mother and Daddy promise that
they wont leave a single penny unspent.
A ponytail, a radical mohawk, a layered fringe maybe?
The haircut that will represent a brand new me.
Strands fall to the floor;
more and more until the final lock,
The barber man keeps snipping and just won't stop.
My new haircut is a bald head.
Mowed spotless with a razor,
The news that has just been broken to me
is that my new life with my new haircut is one of...cancer.