Sunday, August 15, 2010

Hyped out

Anything can be in style
Based on the way they compliment
Our unconventional living of what we the happily contaged call love
My mother's leather purse from the fifties
Some Argentinean slippers
Soy milkers, the anit-soy milkers
Your accent is sexy, but not mine
They decide
Vinyl, gardening, knitting are back in style
So are kids, deacons, newly weds
The definition of hip
And the innate puckering of lips
No one blows kisses anymore
Only bodies can travel
People fake up answers
But points of view are true
Airlines are to blame
Airlines are to thank
Thank me that I blame them
For the anguish-building bond of distance and desire


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