If you look closely
you can see him disappearing
(few ever do for
beauty does
seem to have
that effect.)
He does not mind, though,
not like he thought he would.
He does not mind,
it does not hurt his pride
to be the center of attention
in this way.
He does not mind,
he has watched others
and studied well...
-some with grace
-some without
-some he loved
-some he pretended to love (for reasons he still cannot quite understand)
-some he did not even try
With all this experience
he did not mind,
and pretended to disappear
with nothing more
than his own signature.
He did not mind,
it was easy
even without a working pen.
He did not mind,
he would not return
this much he knew
was right now.
No promise,
no seed planted,
Just his body,
Just his eyes,
and the impermananet edges
of them seperating him
out.
Just his position
at the center of the universe,
that small and meaningless stage,
with his happiness and hatred, finally.
But every once in a while
he does have an urge
he cannot explain:
He wants to tell them all.
He knows he should, could;
He knows now he can say it
without nostalgia,
as the parasites
gather
around his empty shell,
he wants to tell them
how he is finally fearless---
and crumbling.
Los Angeles - 7/28/07
