The game of Outer Reaches

I've been to the outer reaches of your poverty;

swallowed the scraps of solvency that wallow

like whips across the strapped combination of

you and me (or me and you?) together like one

primal concoction, a twined creation of what

might just be worthy of (eternity) if we do like

all the movies say and make it count. Play the card

right (and write it all down) in between sips of

coffee - that I really can't afford - and these twelve

x. twenty-four hour days.


I've been to the outer reaches of your prosperity

sung along to the sadness that billows like the

flags of underdeveloped countries - your own

symbols to guide me (a girl with all this strength)

to the light that bends the edge of the curtains back

and burns bread at the corners just like I like it.

My girlhood interjects enough chemical reaction to

make me debate over gas money or new shoes -

but these days sway like voices bouncing across

the stained carpet of these freezing hallways -

bare feet burning and taking on the form of blocks of



Is this you? Structure with the circles under her eyes -

sometimes I question myself too harshly. I don't cut

into myself with razors and knifes but sometimes I

wonder about it. Subject myself to authority, a child

they speak of, yet tell me of adulthood like it's some

R-rated movie that I had to sneak into just for a glimpse

of it, and afterward I make believe that I have no idea.


How long does it take to wait for something that you want?

To bloom in into something consumable and needed in a

world full of artificial connection (and rejection)


You don't have to love me, or hate me for that matter. But

I would love to know how you really feel instead of all these

guessing games.