. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

That First Rooftop

This poem is about the first girl who ever invaded my world, that place between the ground and the clouds...

We found ourselves at the edge of a precipice,
having trespassed where we did not belong,
the outside seam of her jeans lightly touched my leg,
and her left thigh underneath,
our feet dangling over Louisiana,
a crude hulk of unfinished steel and concrete below us,
somewhere beyond that a street,
the soft circles of yellow lamp posts intermittently marking its path,
the city dark and distant,
discontinuous multi-colored lights dangling on the horizon
     like inverted stars,
uncertain miles stretch away from us,
with as much mystery and foreboding as our own invisible futures,
how young I thought myself,
courageous and charming,
bravely facing the distance,
the cool air that rushed up to meet us,
carrying on it an unfamiliar song,
until in that same future I found myself alone,
wishing I were the moon in order to feel justified in my solitude,
and only looking back did I realize how young I really was.


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