And so.
And so.
And on.

She sits at the front of the class
in the middle
and sings to herself
and laughs
forever and ever
{AhMen
and AllWomen}.

She doesn't have to watch
the backs of heads
just stares
at scrawled projector ink
and listens, hearing nothing.

("Take the Log of both sides/
divide and find the exponent in/
example Sev-Uhn-Teen.)

(Trish?")

"Huh?
Oh, you...
can't.
It doesn't-
work?"

("[hesitation]
Good,
and so...")



And so.
And so on.
Sitting there contained inside
a smile that can't afford to die
a heart that beats in time
with all the world that it contains
and not the body it sustains.

And so.
And so on.
'Ticks on by
this life that they don't see
and they can't smell her sweat and fear
the days and weeks she spends in here
the art that wants to breathe its life
onto the paper-
through the canvas-
-clay-
ANYTHING!

Give her a pore to expel her life through.
Give her the air outside!
You're killing every star
behind her sleepless eyes
and wondering
OH!
"Where in hell'd she go
when she followed White Rabbit
and cut off his foot for good luck?"

And she's stuck
gasping chalk-for-a-future
while associates play
"pet the bunny."

01/24/2005

Posted on 01/25/2005
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia