"We may expect that a new discontent and restlessness will soon develop, unless the individual is doing what he or she is naturally fitted for. Musicians must make music, artists must paint, poets must write if they are to be ultimately at peace with themselves. What humans can be, they must be." --Maslow

typical scene, typical day, your hands
are always on my mind, and on days like this
i am all commas and cannot end a single phrase
without a preposition. typicality means
that i am craving vapid music, crowded floors
and loud bass beats, typicality sees you
in my mind as the hero from across the room
and pays no heed to what i'm wearing or whether
each hair is perfectly in place (because
they won't be). come and be my typical,
my argument and my proof, come and watch me
move and shake off the stress of weeks.
all actions are done to be witnessed, and
spotlight or no i need to brush this off:
you cannot abandon me, you cannot stop loving me,
it is impossible for you to reverse old emotions
no matter how hard you want to walk away.
here, look at my body: i am my own argument!
look at this, and this, and this, and listen
to my words and the thudding of my heart
in concrete ribs: you cannot abandon me,
you cannot refuse me and i will not refuse you.
i am not reacting in rhythm correctly but
over the phone and from miles away there is no
possible standard of what is right and what is
just trying to walk away. we are a pair of
castanets, ricocheting off our possible futures!
we are the beat of deep drums, distant thunder
but too close at hand for comfort.
we are violent, active, witnessed: you cannot
abandon me without leaving some trace of yourself
in my skin, i cannot weave my life any more fully
without pulling you into it. speak my rhythm
and share my words, be my argument, hips in hands
and wading across dense rooms to find each other,
find us hand in hand, we'll never grow old.