A Ho-Hum’s Rant*

11 May 2017


Despise flaunted,
when they look into the eyes
of beings with dull-coloured locks
department store bought clothing
tattoo-less, single piercing.

“Dispose of them!”
Voices without grunge
tears without hatred
lips without berry stains
necks without blotches.

For underneath virgin hair
reeks innocence,
a baggage to any art
connotative absence.

They say, “What’s to express,
when their souls bleed emptiness,
not from suffering and loneliness, but
the lack thereof.”

It’s the lack thereof,
lack of pride and presence
identity grounded in bygones
fearing the eccentric
avant-garde and the likes.
It’s the lack thereof,
crisp notebooks without scratches
neither embossed from pressure
sketches or slashes
regardless in cursive or print.

It’s the lack thereof!
Dearth of expression, grumbling
flat from a mellow voice, seen
strange for a faith in old truth
not innovation of the youth.

If your hair doesn’t volumise attitude
(yes, the hair, the hair, the hair!)
breath doesn’t billow unfiltered cigarettes
temperament rebuffs fitful solitude
wrists undecorated with muse or bracelets,
then perhaps you’re not fervid
enough – not for the aesthetic
nor for the craft.

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