Vanity, a floscule
Conceit is what saves what I’ve yet to spend. Wistfully following my example, nature, observant, re-enters herself: counting her limbs, webs and loose twiglets, she walks into where her eyelashes link into pillars of mineral drippings. Me, a vain wreath of milk, vanity itself, I’m shaped as an eyelid as vacuoles leak a pearly drop drizzle, a winnowing mist out of fractures. A floscule, a false pair, candy perfumed. As the petals are peeled off my face is revealing: I was a girlboy, my body was time. Picked and parsed into syntax of scabs, attempts were made at denying me sanctuary. I was a meadow and I was an edifice before I met myself nebulous, a Cytherian harlequin, always and already sacred. Vanity wears me like varnish, and I take her in turn on a ramble downtown, our grins interlinked into nucleotides, into seepage. It goes beyond arrogance, it’s a matter of life. On a cellular level, I’m running trench-deep between men and the timelessness. A man is often too much of a sentence; it rarely can grasp the incandescent, and vanity’s nothing but boyish courage and glassblowing sheen, a dune overheating. There’s certain glory in the deciduous, a certain joy in the vainglorious. Certain lashes allow for the sameness of elements, certain men could lose sight of boyhood in fisticuffs. The scream of a daffodil, the stain of a scream, same splendor, same furniture. She talks of herself from a sinecure. She talks about herself in the third person because the idea of being who she is, of acknowledging that she is herself, is more than her pride can take – a sentence that should’ve been simple pasted, it’s passed. It’s passed beyond a condition. I am a girlboy, my body is time, endlessly present, pre-set into leonine features, how flattering. Men don’t understand it and yet. A group is a pride, and I am the group, which means its own kind of inter-intelligibility. I’m read with another language in mind, I’m blue like a burstfulsome artery. Even Narcissus knows that all youth is eternal, and nothing’s in vain in my vanity.
