Regular Poem: Skipping Town

20 Dec

But what if
I actually did
skip town
like I always say
like I always dream about–
a cache of cash
and a fast car
dark sunglasses
a dye job?

How much
could really be
different
and new?

(There’s nothing
new
under the sun.
Vanity of vanities.)

Surely
I would shower
the same–
buy the same
stuff and use it
the same
way.

I’m a creature
of habit,
routine,
particulars and specifics,
rituals.
And even if I weren’t,
my body
wouldn’t suddenly not be
my body–
with all its cravings
and allergies
and sensitivities.
A new identity
could erase
much
but not
that.

This new identity
(this hypothetical new identity;
I don’t have the faintest
of how to obtain one
much less how to
sustain one)
lives and breathes,
but what does it subsist on?
Lies and obfuscation?
Half truths and veiled memories?
A shadow play,
bound by its script–
more bound than my old life in some ways–
to its new setting and characters and plot,
imprisoned publicly.
Privately–
on my new houseboat,
in my new loft,
at my new desk–
what do I default to
in the darkness?

I run scenarios
algorithms,
catalogue
personality traits
and style choices
and belief systems,
distill
myself
into my very atomic structure–
down to the basics
(and the acids, too).
I sift
until I’m a fine flour–
a powder,
a dust–
mostly skin cells:
miniscule samples of DNA

recognizable as me
but stripped down
naked and shivering
in that drafty houseboat
quizzing myself
on my new social security number
practicing my new handwriting.
There I am–
running away from and into
myself.

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3 Responses to “Regular Poem: Skipping Town”

  1. Silver Screenings 21 December 2015 at 5:40 PM #

    Beautiful and witty and wise. Love this one.

    Happy Holidays, and all the best to you for 2016. šŸ™‚

    • TheBestofAlexandra 22 December 2015 at 5:04 PM #

      Thanks! I know I’ve expressed the sentiment before, but it’s something I keep coming back to because it’s almost constantly on my mind–how an escape is only an escape if your brain (or the Holy Spirit, or Emily Dickinson) will let you escape. I’ve probably got another couple poems about it bubbling around as we speak.

    • TheBestofAlexandra 22 December 2015 at 5:04 PM #

      And Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you, too!

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