Yellow Sweater

We were charming ideologues with a penchant for hypocrisy. 
 

It was a sunny day when I happened upon a pretty boy playing a flute by the river. I listened to his music for a while, watching the delicate shape of his smile as it fluctuated between concentration and ecstasy.

In perfect history,
creation was practical, 
a potter's wheel rhythm. 

Hands in the clay, 
monotony was made beautiful. 
We spun ourselves into vessels
that carried:
Our water, 

If I had a pair of Gucci heels, 
I would wear them with socks. 

Contextual legitimacy: 
my screams are subtle.  

Why does absolute cultural revolution so often end in genocide? 

Music from vinyl. 
It’s a miracle really. 

God, I just want to fly.   

No actually, I want to run
and pant 
and sweat
and pound
and fly.

I read a book slowly. 

Give me a pair of corduroy bell-bottoms. 

Pin my heart to one sleeve
and a flower to the other, 
as I pen my manifesto.  

I want to smash through windows
and logic,