Thursday, January 29, 2015

Southern Cross

It's the imperfections that make it art.
That moment in Southern Cross where Stills' voice cracks
breaks my heart wide open to the salt sea
every time
every time

The messy people, the odd ones, the ones who don't fit
The stripper feminists, the androgynous ones pining for princess treatment
The ones who bluster and cuss and make uncomfortable spaces more

80 feet of waterline.

read riot, blast on, trample your fucking etiquette
this is the stuff of life

nicely making way.

Punks and Stephen Stills
Feminists and arrogant men
Black hearts and bleeding hearts

I have been around the world

but I haven't, I haven't, I have been safe, here,
in the invisible buffers of everyday life, contained.

I may not get to the Marquesas but I can
be the mad one, love the differences, embrace the unusual
I can fall out of your polite society, push out, punch my way out,
I can rave with the ravers, rant with the newfoundlanders,

Spirits are using me
These things make life bearable.

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