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This Poem Will Make You Famous
Poetry
This poem will make you famous
I painted my face on this rock
and now I’m throwing the rock,
I’m throwing the rock
through your bedroom window
where you were probably sleeping
and dreaming of neon fedoras
left on the hat racks of Hell
or anything else other than my face
now entering your domicile
to the accompaniment of shatter
and shard and the tenebrous tinkle
of pointless alliteration scattering
like sand grains lost from a beach towel
and forever embedded in the creases
of your car seats. Yes, I’m that ear worm.
I’m the song you heard that stuck
like toffee to your teeth
because it was playing the first time
your skin felt inter-dimensional
at the mere incidental contact
of thigh grazing thigh, two teenagers
sitting side by side in a gymnasium
and still oblivious to the inner workings
of hormonal overload or secretive
puppy love crushes kept like origami
napkins folded into the ventricles
of the metaphor obscured by the wordplay.
No writer ever just comes out and says it,
no, not me, I’m painting my face
upon all these stones and I’m slinging them
through the plate glass facades
of the peaceful suburban night
because that’s just how much I love
disturbing the middle class
and their pretentious self-delusions
of the perfect picket fence
porch swing lemonade kind of life.
Besides, if enough windows get broken,
and enough dreams…
