black and white stockings buried deep inside the dresser drawer
tagged on an adolescence reciting guts and miming dolls
not shamed enough in bedrooms to counteract the public toll
of pirouetting revolutionists praising bongs and Nico whores

they say “Excuse my misplaced manners but i’m afraid we aren’t the pack
of creatures you’ve been looking for — your bark is much to flat”
a cough a drag a pinch
of fabric swept away inside their faux moleskins
each face a cluster of cystic acne (smelly drop-out Rembrandt kids)

the beacon broke it’s blacklight and i’m left standing in the dark
a modern day romantic too inexperienced to play the part
a greedy teen without the means for public domesticity
if you need me i’ll be in my room – call me down when dinners ready

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