To be a successful artist, one must first be a good salesman,
and an expert in bullshit.

i have been unconsciously milkwhite for years.

Nineteen-Eighty-Nine brought an onslaught of more than just me.
It brought the falling of empires,
And the falling of walls,
And one thousand other things.

Ten Fifty-Two a.m. was a second beginning.
He was marching in a pro-choice rally on the day of his daughter's birth,
And maybe God was crying.

i believe in braces and belly-dancing and bleeding ink,
i believe in the flowing of ideas,
And waking up hungover and unfair.
i believe in the experimentation of the young.

At the beginning of this year i stopped biting my nails.
i had chewed them off repeatedly
For nearly seven years before that.
Now they are covered
In dollar-store black nail polish
And Downtown Miami's caked on dirt.

Two-Thousand Six brought cigarettes and rain.
we were kissing drunk under a Collins Avenue bridge
And pretending we were born again,
And maybe God was crying.

Instead, i haven't made love in much too long.

02/01/2006

Posted on 02/01/2006
Copyright © 2024 Eli Skipp