yogurt and gray hair

21 Jul


yogurt and gray hair


If I said

that my mother wore braids

then it would be another lie

that I’ve turned into description

like a painter making frauds of portraits

or appraisers

naming a price

for the beautiful orphans that woke in your arms


someone told me that my generation

lacks the accountability of their antecedents

but it’s not that

we’ve just learned to make deceit our vocation

because we’ve seen how lucrative it’s been


If I said

I saw Paris as a kid

then it’d be another myth

of a child that never left the airport motel

on an accidental layover eve

that hasn’t ended yet

and I’m still afraid

of the different tongues

and a world wider

than the deli down the block where the cigarettes are cheap


it will be during a lonely gloaming

like this one drawing in

when my life will end

in a tumbler full of bourbon

two pawned guitars

and the correspondence of an old lover

irresponsible and unresponsive


until then though

this avenue will last all night

like the bloody glory of the skyscraper

and I will hold your trembling hand

surrendered to our steps

with my diamonds the raincoat on the concrete

underneath your feet


(the pattern says to add two lines and a merry onion

and so)


If I said

that it’s all going to work out well

then I’d be uncharacteristically doltish

because promise needn’t turn into pennies on the floor  

and I no longer sleep

as I once did

because the color’s waned

and the light comes

only from the married sun

growing old over the cold city

like a tired bloom

stumbling away from its reflection


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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