THAT.

The elevator
Rose slowly up
And out of the
Subway station
I leaned on the black rubber railing
Where a thousand elbows have
Rested before

Why was it so busy
At ten pm.
People rushed
By me on my left.

And I looked up
In a sort of sleepless
daze
But I felt
Good.

As everything moved by
Towards
that.

Five young girls
Were running like wild graceful
Swans with the cunningness
Of a thoughtless antelope
On the escalator to my right
That was not working

The metal stairs

I watched as they ran by
and the one in the center
Was so tightly packed into
Her white jeans
Each step spoke sex
I couldn’t make out the age
From the angle I was at

Only the back end
Of lust

Each muscle flexing
Perfection

How did those jeans
Stay so white
Did she never sit

Did the dirt tremble in fear

And I heard a voice beside me
That said
You could never have that

It wasn’t my voice
It was the voice of an image
Of one of the people passing by

A mirage in my head
But I pictured it.
A factory worker, past his prime

Who’s prime
Was nothing to speak of
Relating through failure
Nudging me in the arm

And I stood a moment and took
The insult for fact
But then
In my head I began to argue

Why not.
I could get that
What is that.
One slip in time
And that is begging for coke
That is working a corner

When the planks break beneath
That falls down at your feet

Why so bleak?
That stands an insult of myself
In itself
I argued back
But I was missing the point
Again
Focused on the delivery

I realized the phantom figure
That had begun this conversation
Was gone
So I continued to argue
With myself
Like any sane thinking
Man would

I could chase after
I could try for that
I could be a star for that
I could sell my soul
Up the river for that
I could stalk
I could murder
I could dream
The devils dream
I could be that
That that wanted
I could change
I could make them
Change for me

Everyone wants that.

Everyone is looking for that
In one form or another.

And one day you get that.
All the built up pressure
And then you are done with that
In a matter of moments
Quick on the draw
And late on the satisfaction

And that rolls over
And begins to snore
To dream of something better

And that is not
All that It’s cracked up to be

When you finally get that
You find that it is nothing

And those that seem to have that
Act as though they have everything.

And everyone is searching for that.
That is not just a woman

that has driven men insane
Like Tesla

But Tesla
Was no ordinary man.

And that search can be good
That obsession
But what most search for
Is man made

Fame
Money
Revenge
Romance

That perfect woman
Came from a man
Well…..
From a woman

But that
Is not an easy thing to grasp

And that
Is what defines most

What they do not have
What they wish to be

Mans goals
Are fantasies
Constructed by other men
Striving for goals
Constructed by others

Religion
Capitalism
Power

It’s a horrid cycle

And as each thing
Moves up the escalator
Ahead
The cycle continues
Further down

But the worst

And these people
I find myself surrounded by these
At times

The worst
Are the ones
That have decided that
They know what that is
That they have that

The ones who look down their nose
At others

But worse then
That
attempt
To make them conform

The ones that decide
What is right and wrong
For an individual

Of course on a major scale
It is easy to spot

Whether its politics
Or media
Or any other major scale outlet

But every small social structure
From a high school clique
To a group of friends
Is just the tadpole
Of the teeth gnashing
Fish
That we all suffer under
That weight, that most if given the chance
would happily become

The crowd will always
Try to break the individual
While the individual will recoil
Further into solitude
To be dismissed

Unless of course
The individual simply
Wants to lead the crowd

These people can be
the most
Dangerous of all

So many I see
That I know
Feel that that
Which they
Have is so precious.

And that
Really pisses me off.

Those razor backs on my spine
And on others.

Their vision is cloudy
But their direction is clear

That
The way to their heaven
Is through their hells.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

(*A note.
I am not exempt from that which I perceive. For I am the vessel through which I see.
I prefer to show my contradictions rather then wasting my time focusing on how to write something that makes me look right.  That it is not my point.  Though I’m not sure what my point is exactly.   So much is created and geared towards a venomous argumentative audience. Or perceived audience. And often out of vanity. But if you focus on the flaws, then that is out of instinct, because you are the point.
All people should be treated equally.
Recognize Nigga.)