i feel this poem still needs some help. please give me advice. the end is a reference to brock's "panacea" poem. written today, march 19, 24, and 25.


he's too big for his body
and some definition
some words
boring weird male enigma
he will prove himself he will prove them wrong
because Goddess is on his side
no he will not be afraid of dancing
he will not be afraid of his beauty
no no no he doesn't need them
he doesn't need ridiculous comments
he doesn't need you
all walls down
he's too big for this school
where he is dwarfed by a big empty
big status
big possession
he's too big for that house
and the bobble-headed boys
in his bare living room who
might just never grow up
might just nod through life
when i've got a headache
his noodle day makes me better
and i wish we could go hunting for rolly pollies together
i want to transfer a tiny sphere of life
from my palm to his
i want his happiness
he is cutting down on coffee!
he is slowly killing his tea addiction!
boy, you are beautiful
i'm glad that we met the kid at
Sonic who used to go to school with you
and he left hating us
but he left hating us as ourselves
he drove away maiming us mentally
not having never known that we exist
because
we exist
LOUDLY
we are
ALWAYS US!
you
boy
you
have to admit that you enjoyed that
and look at what we can be all together
one big big being
what makes him tick?
a big big heart
classified enigma in
a big big world
scrawled in black ink-paint all over his keen hands
not your boy
and he laughs
and the whole big big world laughs
i promise that boy
will find a flat and fill it full of beauty
things and people
surrounding himself with wonder
he will go to Bombay, India
and try to get into a bollywood movie
by belly-dancing through the streets
waiting to be cast as an extra in a dance sequence
singing “VAYASHIANAYLADYAEKEAGOIA”
at the top of his high high voice
with that high high note sitting in the top shelf
one day he will be fulfilled
he won't have to keep searching for friends
when he is brooding at Paris street cafes
he will be approached by dead-thin artists
and love-sick poodles
and teary-eyed middle-aged women bearing pastries
who see him for what he is
he will be satisfied
when he lives in a nutshell house
with me and our beauties
he will be satisfied
as a gypsy dancing under a white-toothed moon
life is beautiful
and so is he
he is up in that smile
constructing constellations
fixturing the stars
i can see him on a ladder
palette in hand
painting the clouds on
i can't wait to see his sunrise
i can't wait to see
where this is going
he wants to be
free
frisbee-throwing
psuedo-pot-smoking
brooding, intellectual
loving and loved
gypsy boy
don't be upset
we love you too much to know you are unhappy
look at the moon smiling at you
as pixies we sprint over silver grassy fields
in the pale silver light
see the beauty of the night?