Freckled faces in South America

Dandy-band. Dandy-band. Oh Taliban,
here we go. An epistle for novitiates:
to be procreator, or not to be, or
to seek misery in an unreturned glance.
Queer in the headlights, actor you,
you might prepare for the role like this:
ignore what the million streaming mouths
tell of our culture, as if one has tickets
stuffing his pockets like olden scarfs
that sold more ass than reassurance.
More obvious is your smoker’s hand:
twiddling each digit like it owed you something,
always and ever, this world or next, this
minute or not, always and ever fidgeting.
Nervous conditions or feral blood snuck in.
And the loner, not so alone but nonetheless
a poor man him, stalwart and animal:
there was no daguerreotype ever made of you, man.

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~ by Jeremy on June 5, 2012.

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