Legendarium"Its like watching the best movie ever, says The Author, but you can
only explain it to others using sign language.
Might as well show photos to the blind.
The Author onstage: her soft hands in the pockets
of a green panda hoodie. Black emo glasses, short hair.
Any and every unassuming student.
Onstage, instead of a spotlight, a movie fragment: Recycled news footage
of fans in line for 6 am signings and midnight releases.
The camera pans
over breathless, expectant, bespectacled
faces in robes
and wizard hats.
When you have a story in your head for this long, it becomes everything.
Shes drawing faces in the margins of notes, faces shes been drawing
for well on twelve years. Shes written
about as many pages.
Its not the fame I want, not exactly. Not in this industry
where pop is king and your novel is only worth
so many matinee movie tickets. She says, Anyway, itd make a horrible movie.
Sung on a Southern SaturdayAint no streetcars to the Southlands
the Lowlands, the Badlands
no more trains run through the Flatlands
at least not anymore
But down at the crossroads
the suns gettin gone
Rhythms got her red shoes on
Improvs shinin up his horn
Flows slidin up to Jazz real slow
she dont blush, she been around
Bluesmans tunin his steel guitar
(won from the Devil in a rigged game of cards)
he smiles his smile, egret White
--girl, can you play the blues?
Senior ThesisI squat in the tub, porcelain cold against my thighs
The drain plugged up
(Waste not, Want not)
pills sloshing in my stomach from
one, two, three hours before
The fourth time in so many months
The camera set up
perfectly angled to capture my performance
(Let them get an eyeful)
The cramps will be painful
The blood doesnt bother me
I sweat and cringe like they expect
Its much easier in the dark
(My eager Fabricators)
I grit my teeth, imagining blue eyes
a scruffy beard
I think this one was his
Slip proof mat under my feet:
I am Janet Leigh
(No, youre a Psycho)
the least of what theyll say
when they see
the pieces of me staring back
beneath layers and layers
of slick cellophane
So much paint on a pulsing canvas
my other cherubs
chilling in the fridge
To my final statement
(and my Final Grade)
Its going to be
one hell of a show