after ‘Why Do Parties Have to be So Loud’ by Bleeding Star
hi,
can you please be more aware
of the fact that you are six-foot-three
and that I am five-foot-five
so, when you stand in front of me
I cannot see the band
through your floppy south park hat
and secondhand Levi’s, five sizes
too large, held up by a shoestring
covered by a washed out
band t shirt from a concert your
dad went to in 1997, caked
in generations of Rexona for men
white film at the armpit
you don’t know the band but claim to
know their entire discography
hoping they are niche enough for no
one to find out you are a fraud
do you think that band also had
their scuffed vans washed
in purple, white, purple, white light
black charcoal build up on water lines,
clumping eyelashes over
wet and wild highlighter, septum
piercings, a large pendant
beaded necklace found on a
cork board in the corner of a Newtown
op shop, girls in tight skirts, big boots
and sweat stained baby tees?
your kisses taste like sting of
mango vodka on the scabs I
use as lip liner, but your thoughts on the
distortion in the bridge in the third band’s
final song made me hitch up my look sharp
tights and leave you in the sink hole
created by the fourteen-year-olds by
throwing their newfound freedom deep
into the earth's core because they
just bought a pair of knee-high converses
and that means they are unstoppable
yours sincerely
