This latest deluge
is the complete collected
the unabridged and overdue
trapped between vaudeville
and en pointe
on the tongues of the holy rollers.
It is the amnesiac's journal
I am finally waking up
over and over again.
This latest deluge
apres nous forever
as one might write it on the beach
at Coney Island
that contested space in a contested city.
The flooded carousel
image sticks around a little too long
as in we are experiencing this
as children or at least
through our toys .
That offensive t-shirt that extinct frog
that healthful approximation of a Malomar
that image of a black hole …
it all stands for something
not metonymically but as in
splashing around in the toybox
and finding a strange 18th century blade
to fall on
but calling it dressup.
Marveling at the blood
because what else is there to do
I Need to Tell You
If underlying all ecstatic beauty
is a ransacked benefit of the doubt
then of course this year's models have visible scaffolding
as an affect, a starchitect's selfie-fever-dream scuffed along the pavement
Call it desperation but the Chemiserie took our bodies literally.
When "her" fits over her like a glove
or why the Plus Size model doesn't alter body shaming.
On the cover of Vogue eating a sheet cake and cackling at the haters
a social nod toward the dissonance within the voyeur class
without capturing or changing
the way we understand ourselves
as important to, at the center of, beauty.
On the subway I was a knockout.
On the postcards of me, someone wrote "Not Funny."
On the table is a picture of flowers that would transform the table.
Outside all hell is breaking loose. The women confuse themselves
with market value when we are off-shore and out-of-budget.
Duh ladies going to a really good wellness center is not
Another time the runway was shut down for anti-harassment training.
It's de rigueur ma fleur. Mochaccino latte.
My anti-harassment training group read a story about men peeing
on a woman's belongings and writing "bitch" on her
Then a question, "Is this harassment?"
Duh guys I can pee on your stuff too.
Teenagers watch a lot.
There are a lot of girls to watch these days.
These are the girls who have it all
(and then some).
And yet…something is wrong. So we watch.
What is it, my beauty, my feather on the breath of a long-lost goddess?
What makes you weep? And wherefor your waterproof mascara?
The teenage girl market.
The empowered woman executive market.
The find yourself in crystals mined in Madagascar market.
The syncretic market of a million times cutting.
How do we sit still long enough?
The rising up of doubt, of benefit of doubt.
How do we trust that an alternative beauty
will come through just by not
accepting this one?