Reoccurring Disappearing Acts / Under-Qualified Specialists (Outside Looking In)

the first poem isn’t much good anymore.
don’t let them find out, it’s far too difficult to understand.
still, the sun shines vividly through the curtain.
i feel played out when i say i find women to be beautiful,
when i say i’m different.
and none of this is true, therefore it’s all cool.
listen closely, this next part’s about you.
keep your distance, don’t look too closely.
don’t stare at it for too long.
i’m reliving my extended childhood.
i don’t belong here, i don’t know these people.

so, let’s just go back and forth.
mystery novel…
i just wanted to express to you how much this means to me.

so, you want to be left alone, left alone to your own devices.
i’m like “not at my own expense” and it’s cool.
you think you like yourself when you find some time alone.
i want a job and to meet people, take drugs, and get laid.
go on dates, looking for mrs. right to have a fight with.
and you want to perform, you want someone to appreciate your art.

art is money.
if she asks about me, tell her i’m still writing.
under-qualified specialists.

and will you be my girlfriend?
and i’d like to perform.
both special.

who do you want to look good for?
all while you fish for slogans and bob for the value of x.
swim through seas of valium, crawl through albums.
fall-through outcomes.
i stick my head outside a fast moving car’s window and try to breathe.

everyone just wants to be down.

i can finally see why you paint your face.
we all want to relax all the time.
it’s going to be a while.

these people don’t know me.
everything’s green, everything’s blue.
the nightlife is purple, the designated sex set is red.
and everyone is lined up around the block
hoping you’ll show up to show your fanny.
in love forever.
best friends forever.
rock ‘n roll forever.
keep in touch.
i’m cool with you, you’re cool with me.
we’re both dying artists, both damaged,
both bringing baggage, both freelance performers,
both reoccurring disappearing acts.
give me a few lessons, a few hundred lessons.
i find solace in colored lights.
silent, white lights.
it always feels like someone’s outside, looking in.

Reoccurring Disappearing Acts / Under-Qualified Specialists (Outside Looking In) by 

handwritten december 2nd


  • vivica
    vivicaover 2 years ago

    i . . . truly love this piece mr. sa. it speaks and whispers to me. volumes. like a bird that came and sang near my window . . . and by a noted delightful coincidence . . . it was hand written on the celebration of the day i was born. . . . and see . . . i was a poem short that day . . . soo i sorta affectionately hugged your poem a little. and i thank you. please feel free to delete my comment if you wish. :))

  • i truly appreciate that, this is a lovely comment, i wouldn’t dream of deleting it. happy belated birthday! i’m glad you enjoyed this and felt a connection, and it’s neat that it was written on the day of celebration of the day you were born. good thing i remembered the date on this one!

    – ' GuestGenre '

  • Ann Morgan
    Ann Morganover 2 years ago

    There is something strange going on here and I kind of like that. How long can you keep this going on?

  • perhaps from hereon in. stay tuned and find out.

    – ' GuestGenre '

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