Thursday, July 03, 2014


They come from Nowhere with Faces like Alexa Chung

They come from nowhere with faces like Alexa Chung, prey on these pretty things, gun them
Put their faces in mud, wash them down with Grey Goose vodka; expel them from school
In their Hell Kitchen apartments under beds are men, sit down, feel a bicep, break a bone
We were once able to sit and wait while they dressed, watched television, read Vice magazine
Now we take turns on them, on the kitchen counter, in the bedroom we are polyarmorous
Come Carouselambra, come play with these play things, make them stand, the Empire State
Statue of libido, fresh fashions from Patricia Field, in these club dresses they go clubbing

You are not celebrity enough for the cover of Vogue, share photos on Twitter and Instagram
Place your German fa├žade on your birthday cake, let the boys lick it off, let them prick off
You were made for business men from Shanghai, in a see through blouse you pose American
With friends you are a Munich girl, fit, protein shook, dancing with Pharell at Calvin Klein
We met at the B&N at Union Square; in the photography section I asked if you were a model
Who are these city girls waiting to be wanted, how you pranced as if it was Christmas Day
Love is a non-Christmas Day where the sun is shining and all we talk about is Tarantino

Django Unchained, poor shop boys eating potato chips, buying paper for hash, Arab sitcoms
No laugh tracks, body sizing, man up or man down, while the cops beat down the block
Post-postmodern queens, your day has come, paint your finger nails blue, braid your hair
Walking blocks of East Harlem, Black American girls imprisoning every man with their eyes
No BDSM, interracial couples at Mexican chop bars, potential hit men await their trials
In this neighborhood they stand at all corners at all hours, rotund black women fishing
I sat with an Estonian girl, looked upon her flesh, her soul, we talked about Dalmatians
Pale girls who watered my conscience, sight of them reading philosophy on the subway

I would love a woman for the sake of her being molded into the shape of the color of love
But it would be a woman of color who unearths this black demon, puts it to rest forever more
From the art girls who smoked cigarettes to the ancient lovers, I would have found desire
White madams trailing African boys into hotels, sleeping with them, husbands left weeping
Making love to promiscuous women in the basement of churches, wild horses, how they rush
Fangs of mad men, thieves, have all gone to sleep, now they hide in corners of unsafe streets
Some rust along the sidewalks, among the greens and concrete, female hustlers who begged
European boys who seduced, let these girls wage their war, I have come to this party alone




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