“Quick, quick, tell me something awful
Like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy
Tell me all your secrets, all you'll ever be is
My eternal consolation prize“
Taylor Swift
“I hate it here”
<>
you found me out before a word was barely spoke,
put you finger in my eye,
separating my insincere boastful toasts from the chaff of my lies,
like a teenage boy
then your finger traced my face, pronouncing my curse,
smelled like cheap Coppertone, and tasted like Polo parfume,
spoke like a sophisticate still my guard slipped,
and let a stream of yeah, yeah yeah out between a
fist bump and some half hearted bro embraces,
or was it my no socks that was the giveaway,
or the perfect crease in my extra slim Lauren khakis,
that were legally obligated from May to Labor Day,
and your silent sneer cut me quick
until I revealed this finance bro,
was me
wrote poetry on his trips to the Wall Street Station,
the 30 minute trip from Central Park on the C local,
was the perfect concoction of time and place,
a voyage back to the reality when
god created the earth in six days
and wrote psalms and poems on the
seventh day of his resting
and the soles on my shoes were by Simon chewing gum stained,
and the years of acting to earn my stake~place,
while my Queens accent was acculturated out from me
by two years at Oxford, where they monikered me
as “our bright new york jew”
not even worthy of a secondary closer look, just a tourist’s curio
so you smiled kindly and invited me to fail your test;
recite me some poetry you composed;
something crazy, something shocking, something
that will convince me that first impressions
are not alway right,
and just my devil’s advocate weeding out the wrong ways
of bad boys who have no interest to me!
so I spoke these words…
~~~
“exhale on the moraine morass, that’s the other side of, yup, over
the rainbow that landed on the peak, cause a peek, is just the start of a trip downwards sloping doggy on my hands and knees and yeah, i’m drunker than I care to deny so I’ll head back down, or roll down, to find out what my next adventure will take, maybe I’ll chase after her,
and fall on her neck with sorries, sorrows, and kisses, besides,
now that I’m done, the sun decides to show a couple of cracks
and that’s some kind of of sign to wrap this sonata up and try a
new fugue, letting its contrapuntal composition tune cleanse me
and
save the day, and a corner of the world, hell it could even spread
like somethings good, successful counter terrorism, zero shootings in New York this day, forget, yeah, what’s that they call that?
oh yeah,
peace on earth”
and no we did not live happily ever after
or cause she larger avenues to parade on,
but days later she emailed me
this song…
“ I hate it here so I will go to
Secret gardens in my mind
People need a key to get to
The only one is mine
I read about it in a book when I was a precocious child
No mid-sized city hopes and small town fears
I'm there most of the year
Cause I hate it here
I hate it here
Quick quick
Tell me something awful
Like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy”