In my conservative, fresh from the suburbs view
(from above you on the balcony),
I see how nonconformity is perhaps in itself conformation.
Dread locked into hemped up anti fashion statements,
The mosh pit is filled with organic righteous, gifted saints ‘au naturel’.
Wafts of patchouli and musked flesh rise to my nostrils, as
Bongo meets zydeco. A same sex couple
Lean in, sway to the music, bright eyes darting
‘Round the room in search of reaction, or like minded acceptance.
Side tables are laid out with found objects; bones, driftwood, feathers, and
Mashed wool recycled broaches, silver, objet d’art, canvases layered in promise.
All the while, artists and rebels and world informers nod intently to one another
Speaking in hushed whispers, over styrofoam cups of steaming tea.
I am apart.
Lesley-Anne Evans, May 2010
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Good to see you posting here where we first met more than three years ago now. I still love your descriptive powers able to paint a scene in verse. One or two words could possibly be hyphenated I thought, and not sure if your meant the TM (trademark?) sign to show up a couple of times?
I like this. Very visual, an unformal rhythm that was fun to read and experience your words. It's true, real life prose. Gritty. I cahnged my mind. I loved it!
-Henry C.
