er, actually, i think it'll be part three if the piece ever decides it wants to be finished... but here's another section from the poem i've been slaving over the past month or so... still working on it, so suggestions are always welcome. hint, hint (read: fix this poem for me, please).
bobby’s best friend stares at an image
of a girl on a billboard so hard
a village in the Congo,
like this one minus the jeans,
bursts into flame.
picking at the remains of last night’s sushi,
he practices the perfect stare: one part hope,
two parts need and a pocketful of indifference,
then washes the taste of ash from his mouth
and decides this vague longing can’t be love
because it doesn’t hurt enough.
he switches channels like blinking,
looks for himself in crowds, wishes
he could find the fast forward for his life
so he could skip to a scene with some action,
or a little sex or maybe just end the damn thing
so he can trade it in for another movie about fire.
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