Stare stone-faced,
absorb the anger.
Consume the hatred—
let it morph inside you
and develop into love.
The beauty is the cure
for his incipient wretchedness.
The air, saturated with sex.
I live the life
of a thousand descendants
from my mother.
In the wake of the city lights:
her face gathered in her father's.
The thundering fury, the fluorescent stars—
Pop! How many lives will she live
by the time she's twenty-five.
3 lovers in 3 days:
stress, adequately misplaced.
s./j. goldner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/worlds-apart-2/
