Natty, Nasty, Sloppily Primped
Natty,
nasty, sloppily primped
Strutting slantways through
The crowd;
tugging cuffs and
Flicking hair, collarpoints
Turned up
underneath
His jaw, white tips
Kissing his pulse
There
is not my name here
I am automated, attuned to
Time, lying fine
and freshly
Calibrated; my chest is the flat,
Hard wall you
lean on; my grin is
A dare; my chin is an arrow, pointing
Down,
down
If
you knew me, other new me, you
Might ask what she sees - what
I
see - in me; but I can
Reassign each lock and look at whim
I
can play and be benign as me
But that's too simple; see,
There's
no work in being
I more enjoy pretending
I wear the
merry
Scoundrel, when
I'm him