I am the hipster
Fly by my pants nomad
Living by instinct
Freezing each mundane square
Inside distance I tread.
I lie awake at night dreaming,
Feeling pressure to explode my insides
Upon any medium I dare,
To swing my resources
Into left shoe – right shoe
While keeping alive the motion
Of original expression,
Dissolving away cultural expectations
As black coffee drips naked
Upon my stained fingers
Tapping lightly on my conscience,
Erupting in ecstatic orgasm.
My rusticated bones have a hard time returning to
Honking cars and attitude
And hipsters looking the other way.
I’m not used to it and I don’t like it.
I want needles of every kind of bough
Littering my path ahead of me
While squirrels and chipmunks and
Birds sing at me with unending stories.
I want spider webs tricking me
Into little games of cat and mouse
While Helios slowly arches
Along the edges of my mind
Preparing for Selene’s calm pursuit
Around and around again.
I want fallen giant cedars to block my path
And to offer a brief respite
With ferns so tender my mind shall wander
To the clear lake I’m heading to.
There’s sun here,
Beaming into my leftover sex eyes.
Wet ground pushing through
My grandmothers heirloom blanket
Floral – diamonds for my pleasure,
Tranquil.
A lover’s legs wrap beyond consciousness,
Creasing my hunger
And playing games with children
Learning how to catch Frisbees,
And hipsters bikes
– Bloody impracticable bikes –
Making criss-crossing lines
Across freshly sprouted spring.
I’m drinking a wild blend of red
Eying patrons eying me…
I’m not annoyed with screaming children,
Just wondering how fun their game really is;
How long fun lasts
Before someones mother has had enough,
Started worrying about what types of spices
To leave out of tonight’s meatloaf
Vegetarian meatloaf,
Hipsters meatloaf.