to all my friends who love DEMF...
Okay, so I have a creative writing class that I thought I would hate due to the poetry writing part but the assignments thus far have been interesting and I kind of like it. While I'm still not good at writing poetry, I like this poem that I wrote for class today. I was supposed to write a poem like Alan Ginsberg, who wrote Howl, which starts "I've seen the best minds of my generation..." It's something we have all heard of at some point in our lives and I like it because it's a list of the weird shit the guy sees in his life. So, my assignment was to write a poem that was similar, a list of things that I see and things that I know. Clearly the most intersting thing for me to write about would be gay bars, parties, and DEMF. I hope you like my poem. Please tell me what you think.
Late Night Secrets
In the time of the night when the darkness creeps over the sky, decisions of the adventures to be had mumer out of impatient lips. Tight blue jeans, strategic, seductive shirts and boots with four inch heels come out under the light of the disco ball.
Youth and beauty are rewarded by a heavy hand, as alcohol passes lips and clouds minds wondering 'who will it be tonight?' Cigarettes pollute lungs and the pulsing beat finds harmony with the flashing lights and young beauties make their way to the dance floor swaying their hips, dancing on platforms drawing attention to themselves, singing along with women they deem divas.
Bar lights come up and people scatter saying quick 'good byes' like a flock of skauking, birds being chased by a car, the corridors flood like a river after the rain pounding against the walls. People cram six at a time out of the samll door. Moving, sauntering, flirting, touching, waiting, hoping. Drunk friends fall over their designated drivers, slurring words of affection. Piling back into cars, tired from driving too many miles, smelling of stale smoke, and resounding techno eminates over the drunken chatter.
Driving, speeding to the next destination too many people cram into a too small apartment. Music screams trying to outshout the drunks, alcohol flows freely into the anxious, awaiting underage teens pushing bitter alcohol through pursed lips. Sobriety vanishes from the apartment, people moving two at a time into rooms looking for privacy and a palce to sleep. Locked lips and entangled bodies pass out into unconsciousness.
The early afternoon comes calling, intising, begging people to come back to consciousness. People nursing hang overs quickly change into outfits that look like those from the night before and head south.
At the bank of a river on a grassy knoll rolling and smoking special herbal remedies, watching the clouds move in overhead. From the furry white blanket that surround young adults hugging it acting like children. The sky becomes angry and dark, blinking lights flash from around necks, wrists, leges, and heads, right hand yellow, left foot blue, massage lines of friends touching, moaning, smiling as the clouds expelled rain onto the site.
Some ran for shelter and the safety of the trees, others danced around under the crying sky, water rolling down their faces, soaking everyone to the bone. Ponchos were used as sleds to aid in diving down the slippery hill. Soon the grass is flooded and everyone dances again; they start making out with the person next to them. Around the circle everyone goes, kissing, touching, smiling, guys and girls; it didn't matter. The rain slowed to a stop and people pushed off the from the riverside, back to the cars. It was time for the night to flaunt and reveal what it had to offer.
Cars fog from the damp people breathing warm air into the cool interior. When the destination is reached, smoke clouds the car, windows and doors closed tight; candy and cigarettes and asprin and orange juice pass from one hand to another waiting with greedy eyes, behind sketch glasses they emerge smiling into the world; under the lights that make no sense, moving to couches that face the ceiling.
Somehow, the people find their way home and wake up in a haze to try and understand and remember what happened in that weekend. I have watched nights conquer the weeks and know that I am part of a secret lifestyle only the oppressed and the elite get to see.
Late Night Secrets
In the time of the night when the darkness creeps over the sky, decisions of the adventures to be had mumer out of impatient lips. Tight blue jeans, strategic, seductive shirts and boots with four inch heels come out under the light of the disco ball.
Youth and beauty are rewarded by a heavy hand, as alcohol passes lips and clouds minds wondering 'who will it be tonight?' Cigarettes pollute lungs and the pulsing beat finds harmony with the flashing lights and young beauties make their way to the dance floor swaying their hips, dancing on platforms drawing attention to themselves, singing along with women they deem divas.
Bar lights come up and people scatter saying quick 'good byes' like a flock of skauking, birds being chased by a car, the corridors flood like a river after the rain pounding against the walls. People cram six at a time out of the samll door. Moving, sauntering, flirting, touching, waiting, hoping. Drunk friends fall over their designated drivers, slurring words of affection. Piling back into cars, tired from driving too many miles, smelling of stale smoke, and resounding techno eminates over the drunken chatter.
Driving, speeding to the next destination too many people cram into a too small apartment. Music screams trying to outshout the drunks, alcohol flows freely into the anxious, awaiting underage teens pushing bitter alcohol through pursed lips. Sobriety vanishes from the apartment, people moving two at a time into rooms looking for privacy and a palce to sleep. Locked lips and entangled bodies pass out into unconsciousness.
The early afternoon comes calling, intising, begging people to come back to consciousness. People nursing hang overs quickly change into outfits that look like those from the night before and head south.
At the bank of a river on a grassy knoll rolling and smoking special herbal remedies, watching the clouds move in overhead. From the furry white blanket that surround young adults hugging it acting like children. The sky becomes angry and dark, blinking lights flash from around necks, wrists, leges, and heads, right hand yellow, left foot blue, massage lines of friends touching, moaning, smiling as the clouds expelled rain onto the site.
Some ran for shelter and the safety of the trees, others danced around under the crying sky, water rolling down their faces, soaking everyone to the bone. Ponchos were used as sleds to aid in diving down the slippery hill. Soon the grass is flooded and everyone dances again; they start making out with the person next to them. Around the circle everyone goes, kissing, touching, smiling, guys and girls; it didn't matter. The rain slowed to a stop and people pushed off the from the riverside, back to the cars. It was time for the night to flaunt and reveal what it had to offer.
Cars fog from the damp people breathing warm air into the cool interior. When the destination is reached, smoke clouds the car, windows and doors closed tight; candy and cigarettes and asprin and orange juice pass from one hand to another waiting with greedy eyes, behind sketch glasses they emerge smiling into the world; under the lights that make no sense, moving to couches that face the ceiling.
Somehow, the people find their way home and wake up in a haze to try and understand and remember what happened in that weekend. I have watched nights conquer the weeks and know that I am part of a secret lifestyle only the oppressed and the elite get to see.