Untitled Mirror
Lounge in your bed, you privileged teen. Enter an esteemed foyer, preferably yours.
Glass taller than those redwoods you don’t remember from Yosemite
Basquiats peer around every corner
But you only remember his death
Your backpack is slinged onto that untouched white couch, tracking in a filth that the maid will “deal with”
Empty rooms stab you as you pass, beckoning for
your curiosity
And you respond with a cursory glance
Do not follow the instructions, unwritten as a
freemason
Meeting
Find anonymity in your bathroom
The stranger in your mirror–he’s just okay-looking
A zit on his right cheek
He disappears and you,
You
moisturize.
Retainer Pain
The retainer is a commitment to yourself
Hell
You mold and twist
Align and
Realign until your jaw and teeth are screwed tight and contoured so that it can look
Wonderful
A silence is created
Oliver wears a retainer. It’s silence as in “no one listens”
Talk with the retainer, Oliver, like it’s a juxtaposed animatronic waiting to maul at you with terrifying dentures
Lucky to only wear at night
The self-deprecation depreciates in twilight
Mirror Untitled
Feelings of being full
Yet inadequately lazy
The lurcher is the person that does not
Confront reality
And there is a hole where something should go – new song, new fit,
new girl.
Feelings like the whole world will violently shake in a catastrophic event
But it does not.
It is stopped
By the same thing.
That stops
you.