Do you do voodoo too
(he asked me on our second date)
While I warmed my palm over the flame
Next thing we knew I was moaning in the hotel elevator, pressing his ring to my folktale/heart--
the price of fame
--
Because they try too hard to be luxury
It's easy to spot imitations of me
They cop obnoxious purses
behave in knots of symmetrical enthusiasm,
and still wear tight jeans,
forgetting why secrets are good hygiene.
It's okay with me, I'll win the way I've always done,
by being gone when they come
but he feels differently
crumples it into scripted upheaval or becomes an imitation of himself
to numb the mania
--
The next morning the New York Electric Street Music rises to the tenth floor
and the truth is important.
I already adore you-- like we've done this before
You wouldn't put pins in me, would you, you wouldn't believe in me so much I exceed you and the excess becomes a wound I dress in fancy dresses with no wrinkles
--
Plus, you know I'm way ahead of you in the magic. I don't even need to practice anymore.
How could we have heard the sound of justice called in by the trauma if it hadn't been improvised by me, to improve us
( and I also thought, I can do the... that you do, easy/frontin' niggas give me heebie jeebies, I am hoodoo, believe me, our myth is our hygiene and a secret blinded by its own truth)
I answered his question absent-mindedly.. Yes, sometimes I do, but I don't call it that. If you call it by its salvation/name, it hides like a deranged animal. Can't we just call this Flying Home
