Just like a model in a magazine
tossing her windblown hair,
the best poetry feels effortless.
But really, I am here with my light sheet
trying to press sunshine into paper,
and angling fans from behind a telescoping
camera lens, because I must get the curve
of the wind just right. Please, that
lipstick's not the right shade; I'm going for summery
not sultry. And I need you to smile,
but not like that and could you give me
some cross combo of Coachella nonchalance
meets femme fatale meets hopeless romantic
girl-next-door but say that all with your eyes?
And in the end, I choreograph the dance
of a million windblown hairs and they hold
this magazine spread of a poem in their hands,
taste the typeface with their fingers, inhale
it with their eyes: effortless.
----
apr 15, 2017
i'm ahead i'm ahead i'm ahead i'm ahead
YOU ARE READING
watterson
Poetryan experimental attempt to write a poem a day for the month of april spoiler alert: i did it
