Photo by Artem Gavrysh on Unsplash

There is nothing subtle about the paparazzi in this town
They grow more brazen by the day
Crouched and clicking their cameras at me like I’m Alec Baldwin or Cher
Right out in the open
On the street
Where I’m walking disguised and nonchalant in crowds
Or bent over retying a shoelace
Because people
They enjoy the stupidest things
Like funny videos of animals
And The Oscars

I flip them off
Middle finger raised defiant and obscene
To their encroaching lens

They smile mid-squat
Amused by the sight of it all
As they capture a perceived famous person doing something normal
For the quick eternity of a shot’s prismatic prison
Recognized for who I am not
Held un-dear and rustled
Locked in pose’s charm of whispered breath

“You are you. That is all. Not much else, Shit Head.”

Please do not go away
You caretakers of the flash trade
I take great comfort in being regarded well enough to warrant spies
It is better by far
Than having no one left to care
About where it is that I am getting my lunch these afternoons
Or the current condition of my hairdo
Or the lack thereof

Call me Ishmael
One last time

Just another beleaguered customs inspector
Belted round by failures
And the derangement of all sense
Mind made up to persist in being annihilated
I do not care much for your cruddy materialistic world
You great hoarders and keepers of resources and wealth

Left to be
At last in this unmapped obsolescence
All of my books out of print
While crows as big as helicopters flap their wings like massive fluttering flags
And isolation grows no autumnal roses for lost sons
I am going to the sea the sea the sea the sea the sea

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