‘Twenty-nine years old and you
got no soul,’ is what I heard
Mos Def say but in hindsight I
think he said ‘Kenny-G’ and ‘Elvis’
and made no reference
to me specifically.
You whispered ‘come with me’
and I followed, did the best I could.
People told me it would
be strange but it wasn’t so
strange just realistic, documentary-like
almost, I couldn’t help but think.
I don’t mean this
as a bad thing. I like
documentaries and realism. You
are real. It was real. I felt quite
real for a short while which was
different to the ‘gamelike’ way
I’ve felt recently.
I whispered ‘Just enjoy being in emptiness’
as we stared up at the black
of my ceiling. You giggled
and said it was creepy. I thought
of our painting, the girl with
magic in her pants
who said ‘You are all creepy’
to the moon-mouse
and other magical
creatures I can’t recall.
They, misconstrued, I, honest,
because I felt like I was in
space, floating.
Your head was on
my shoulder and
I was enjoying
the emptiness.
It’s my dream, to be
up there and for a moment
I was. That’s all I
meant.
I have a soul. Bukowski reminded
me this morning, Bukowski and you.
Fuck you Mos Def.
