Let the cicadas burst from my skin
My pores can be seen from the dirt
They collect the dirt and rubble of the day
Every seventeen years they burst
Ohio's the last time they burst from the womb
Falling from trees
Haunting the night
Dying by the millions
The sidewalks become a crunch
Must buy fifteen different creams
Facials
Hundred and seventy dollar creams made from the foreskin of teenage boys
Pores are too big
Layer on the three cover ups
Two foundations
Two powders
Eye makeup
Hide the pores
The cicadas chirp
They are somewhere near
Get the right makeup
Everything is the wrong makeup
Im allergic to them anyway
Oh god,
why is nature here?
I love this poem. It makes me feeling like cicadas are crawling all over me in the best way possible. Not that cicadas crawling on you are desirable, you know what I mean.
ReplyDeleteLove the specifics about the makeup and the comparison of the pores and the dirt. Very vivid, very good. :)
I love this. It's so vivid that I can almost see it, feel it. Fantastic.
ReplyDeleteI love the juxtaposition of cicadas and pores. So interesting. I get the visceral feel of wanting to cover skin, trying, and not always succeeding.
ReplyDeleteI love the stanza that ends "Hide the pores". That might be my favorite line.
More poetry, Cylon, please?