Fighting Irony: entry

Will You Be My Madeleine?

Like a new pen
you are filled with promise
nothing yet
On the Record
only the perfection of irrational
imagination

Too soon you will be hazy
appear as a mind-screen
Double Feature
with the soft vanilla scent
of Junior High love
behind the disappointing discovery
of padded bras, misshapen breasts
and then–
the realization!
wondrous imperfections
outshine cold plastic models
of gym-health lectures

Or will you be even less?
another dew drop
another sharp bit of ice
in the Cloud
expanding the infinite grayscale
of sloppy solipsistic
grey matter

Tell me it gets easier.
We have so much to care for now.
So little to care about.

But we keep walking
most of us
into the hot haze of memory
away from the promise
our ink long dry
scraping our sticks in the sand
if only for a second to shout
We’re Here!
We Exist!