Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Poetry Slam Tuesdays: I Kept Hearing It

The Games We Play, or,
An Ode to Lana Del Rey (& Me)

This is where we met, he said,
Not looking, but looking,
Smiling at the joke they haven't said
It's too ridiculous,
It's nothing,
It's everything.
He said she was killing him,
She shook her head and said something smart,
But completely stupid.
Cause if she could,
She would have said:
'This is killing me
And I feel like a joke
Until you look at me and make me feel
Like me again'
Something whole, and real, and good.
The question
That lingered in the air between them

I wanted to know why he looked at me
Like that
When all I've done was nothing
and yet he says these things, but, still,
looks at me like that
like I could be, and I am,
the most exceptional woman on earth,
or at least this place,
where I sit alone
but surrounded
and feel you stare
only to realize you're not, at all,
so I hate you and want you
and wish we would just disappear
maybe "go play a video game" 
so I can only remind myself
maybe it is just a game
for two

and I listened to that damn song
I had told you to listen to
So many, many times
I kept hoping it would burn out
But it didn't
Instead I just kept hearing it.

It took my all not to weep
At the knowing.

You know it, too.
So let's keep it like this:
The joke we've never said
Cause it's on us.

It’s not even the same table these days,
but still I cling to the notion
that I have an idea what’s going on
when I don’t, I don’t,
I don't know anything at all.
like Lizzy Grant sang,

“I was born bad, but then I met you,
you made me nice for awhile,
but my dark side’s true”

We all do what we have to do.
'Whiskey on my tongue'
And I do think it's kinda fun,
but I'm flat outta luck, too.
She puts a sparkle in your eye
where I keep extinguishing the flame.

Sylvia wrote that
“we should meet in another life
we should meet in air, me and you”
I love that bit
(don’t you?)

Oh, baby, I want you, I want you.

It’s hysterical, really,
when you consider all the facts.
how am I supposed to get to that cloud?
it’s like writing in the tub
holding pen and paper mid-air.
my bubble bath cost $22
and I couldn’t even afford that Tecate

I ran the bathwater too hot
sweat was pulsing down my temples
(‘you’re no good for me/
but baby I want you, I want you, I want you’)
Still, I refuse to get out.
Not yet.
I paid for this shit.

Just let me soak in it,
won't you?

Lana, or can I call you Lizzy?
I hope you’ll be in love forever.
Maybe we'll be in love forever.

No comments:

Post a Comment