Beautiful As This No matter what you think of it, the world Has never ceased making girls beautiful As this girl sitting on the floor next to me Telling another girl who isn’t as beautiful as She is but still beautiful about how crazy This all is, stopping only to take a few sniffs From the little spoon screwed into the cap Of the vial of ketamine hanging by a thread Around her neck, saying, “Where was I?” Before continuing. The most beautiful thing About her are her shoulders — such were The shoulders of queens of France, or, Better yet, girls who wished they were queens, Turning this way and that to try and see What everyone, even the lowliest pauper, Could see but she couldn’t. Now she’s saying That this could be the end of the, like, world. But only when the world ceases making Girls beautiful as this will the world end.
Real As This.
No matter what you think of it, the world,
despite never ceasing to make beautiful women
and the women beautiful, will come to an end —
When something as real as her intentions,
and care, affection, and the incessant scolding
would become as timeless as her light gray hair,
as hopeful as her eyes for you, as cheerful as
her aura and her make-believe happiness too,
And when someone as surreal as the ageless lass
in her day is made to put herself into the fray
of the limitless skies of the Earth, the world
will come to an end, when the one who
helped you become, the one who gave you birth,
becomes as ageless as her knees and the bend,
but only when you'll know she has gone to
sleep forever, will the world come to an end.