Model Strut

Cannot force the words to unfurl
your hands
on mine
cheesecake, apple pie
some scenes from my book
should be no roses
or poetry
for I am made of this earth
no Porsches or Gucci
no ridiculous price tags
on love.

Mostly I have
Acropolis blues
swimming pool nudes
jeans in your favorite hues
Montreal flair
red flaming hair
Greek in my veins
statues of us
surrounding the moment
we never meet
by minutes
whatever fate decides
(How could you choose fate over me?)

I wanted to be found at that hotel
thought every man was you
got pissed drunk on free shots
with slutty Australians
every guy trying hard
I’ll have none of that
I had cloud in my eyes
knives in my words
embracing fools, never.
Talking favorite New York sites
not with them.
I will soon have no voice left
you have cut off all my bravery
I’m a poetic whore
I sold my soul to poetry a long time ago
wanting so much more
found the libraries and wrote the score.

My heart and soul
is sore, bruised
feeling utterly abused.
I free you
and run fast
I will only bring you despair
I am not so rare
I can do a good impression
of a model strut
but truly
there is nothing to decide
I have already changed my mind
to run quick from poets
and damn well hide.

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