Wednesday, July 29, 2009

too many possibilities

she chooses to live in a world in
which there are too many possibilities,
a chica on method weeps in my ear,
cherry poppin' vamp, a gun slinger,
from a hallucination i once had,
she cuts herself, the poor girl, ouch

snarls, says that i'm a parasite on her ass,
running through the problems she's having with
her mangirl, it’s a chemical infused world

he, too, is involved with a mixed up girl,
constantly staggered by him,
his lament stutters like an echo in a tunnel,
a thousand lives, which one of them is you?

she pretends to be an assortment,
a collection of mix and match personalities,
strung out chicks, post-grad bullets,
troubled young girls, anxious butterflies, young mrs robinsons,
she’s a player, performer, it's an important question,
one that i intend to ask her myself, when we meet next in new york

but before we encounter the real her,
i need to confirm the status of the fictitious one,
the one whose fame has long since leaped
out of the manhattan scene and into every
dirty romantic crevice of the urban zoo,
the one who has hit a very big nail smack,
slam dunk in the head, the nail is called identity,
some of us seem not to worry overmuch,
about who or what we are

it is no longer a permanent arrangement,
if she doesn't like it, change it, move towns,
move countries, get a fresh nose, get a fresh face,
arrive poor, leave rich, its all so possible

but there is a possible snag to all this extreme flexibility,
if the outside keeps changing, what happens to the inside?

even with that question, she is still my patron saint,
because her achievement has been to step outside of herself
in these personality wars, instead of living in a world in which
there are too many certainties, she chooses to live in a world in
which there are too many possibilities

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