An Open Love Letter
The greatest hustler we will ever know
Is wishful thinking
For something holy.
The deal on the table never really changes.
It has long grown old
And curdled.
But we all take it as new.
And
How can I find my balance on the legal apparatuses
Of a rat eat rat city
Which will always take the form’
Of a moneyed home.
Those of us who honed our craft
Have become exhibits in
museums of all our spent years
isolated
while the moneyed children
beautiful in their designer skin
and expensive shoes.
But their souls were left behind
On the cutting floor somewhere
Where the rats
The ones mentioned before
are free to collect all scattered things
For their unseen nests.
That is the price of advertising:
To
plant your heart under the floor boards
Like just another roach
Another lost
Or discarded thing
all
To avoid the pain
Knowing what it is
To turn into just another house cat
Peering out the same window
As yesterday
Knowing you will never
truly be part of the world below
Only living just behind
Drawn shades and
Dark clubs.
And me?
I continue to wait for you
To return from desperation’s
unforgiving sea.
Copyright © Matthew Abuelo | Year Posted 2017
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