“What makes a star?” he asks
knowing that everybody has a plan
until they get punched in the face.
So hit me again,
ruin my body for
the pleasure of others.
Knock me unconscious with
a sucker punch I won’t
remember having thrown
…and then come round
in a yellowing delete and
the close-eyed,
bruised acceptance
that the kid I once knew
who was up for the fight,
is now composing himself,
broken knuckled,
ready to be captured
by the camera’s empty promise.
The body I once owned
giving itself up to the star
I thought it might become.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
“What makes a star?” he asks
knowing that everybody has a plan
until they get punched in the face.
So hit me again,
ruin my body for
the pleasure of others.
Knock me unconscious with
a sucker punch I won’t
remember having thrown
…and then come round
in a yellowing delete and
the close-eyed,
bruised acceptance
that the kid I once knew
who was up for the fight,
is now composing himself,
broken knuckled,
ready to be captured
by the camera’s empty promise.
The body I once owned
giving itself up to the star
I thought it might become.