One day I'll be famous and you'll be all like
"ah- that's the guy that messaged me!-Truly he was more than a fish-- he was: a Dolphin.."
And you will go back to your mundane sea of guys
iphone-ing their six-packs-and talking up their
boring job- because I didn't show you my 9-pack-
that's right, it's anatomically possible. You'll
read indexes of despairing men commoditizing themselves
into numbers and ratios, but I shall remain a mystery!
You didn't stick your neck out to reply to me and thus
you never truly got ahead of the fishrace.One day when
you've finally settled for a guy,a factory man who secretly
resents you for holding him back from his dream to do semi-pro
moto-cross or sportscasting or some other bro dream,
riddled with venereal diseases and/or children,
you're pushing a baby carriage down the sidewalk,
scratching a mysterious, personal itch--
the last of the Kennedys is dead,
You realize you're life revolves around your next timeshare stay,
perhaps the sun shines just right and you see through
the tinted window of my hybrid-limousine with
the mounted chrome-deer-antlers- our eyes meet-
a passing ghost of what could have been,
before my chauffer floors it to some place way cooler
than gymboree or wherever the crap you're going-----
porque yo soy 'Artstar.'
when I draw i have to add mistakes so people don't think God did it-
my color pallette makes the masses cry
and pregnant women break water. The terrorists
put down their weapons, and the physicists finally understand,
the critics gouge their eyes out.(in the good way)-
but none of that is why I made it big-
Nay this well draws from a river much deeper---
it's because I got soul- something impossible to
see through a 1x1 photo, if there were a school
that taught it one could spend years and years
and not understand it-because you've been bamboozled
into your father's father's faith, when you study--
the authors you read contain your mind,and reduce you.
When I do, I contain the author and all those before them.
What you've learned you've learned to imitate!
But what I've learned I've visceralized and reduced it!
You are a potato chip and I own the vending machine company!
You Had Your Chance! You didn't reply!
And now you're waiting for steve or chuck to come home.
You return to Plenty of Fish but now you're 43-you tell yourself
steve is just a social drinker as you stretch your face out in the mirror,
does your insurance cover lipo? You're 67-addicted
to perscription pain relievers,
Your breasts hang like two dead fish tied behind your neck,
you still get offers,but oh the one that got away.
Looking back you wonder what your uptightness of youth was all for
why you didn't reply..what could have been,
when all you have now is a distant longing, siriosis, and some loose teeth?
And in a chrome-antlered castle far away on a hill high up, a fading Artstar..
surronded by kissasses, lawyers, and courtesons,
but alone in his deathbed.He lay dying, the diagnosis: heartbreak.
he shudders one last word...your name-
and goes softly into the night.