- SHIA LABOEUF GETS BOTH
There’s a territory you’ll tread through as an artist these days.
And it’s there, you’ll come to a wonderful but terrifying realization.
It saves you from falling
But tackles you to the ground:
You’re either doing what you do for yourself
Or you’re doing it for fame;
Internet celebrity; likes.
The horrific, intangible measurement of minor acclaim.
The carrot on the stick.
At the end,
Once you’ve sifted through them all.
Every blue thumb,
Every name of every acquaintance you kind-of know,
Take a look at the most famous name nowadays.
The one you aspire to be, deep in your cerebrum.
It’s in the clothes that you wear,
The lines you delete,
The reps you rip into your limbs to imitate.
The shit you buy.
What you give away at the cost.
Do they care?
They had the same thought a while back,
And picked the wrong option.
Except for Shia-fucking-LaBoeuf
He got both.
If only I could be him.
2. SUPERHERO MOVIES
I have an insatiable fetish for disappointment.
All I watch are
3. I HOPE THAT WASN’T ME LAST NIGHT
I got out of bed drunk one night
And walked into the bathroom
To stare at myself in the
It was spattered with toothpaste and blackheads.
I wondered why the girl in the next room
Didn’t want to sleep with me.
Charming, funny, polite,
Raised by women,
Who taught me right
Then I saw it.
Deep in my pink eyes.
My cracked cheeks.
My protruding stubble.
My chipped teeth.
Crawling back like a scared pet.
My rough, feline tongue.
A stale, pale-ale tang.
“You have never been particularly attractive.
Why would you be now?
After leaving in the heat of such egregious egoism?”
Then I went
Into the night,
And walked home.
Though home is what I’d just left.
I came back half a clock later,
No shoes by the door.
A message leapt from my phone.
“Sorry about that.
That wasn’t me.”
The bathroom mirror says otherwise.