With love

Poetry

Patrons of So-Called Art

Give me a classic whiskey ginger and true black

And in the meantime call up the night warden while you

Leave room for growing. Perhaps, by any chance, if possible, could you

Lace the cocktails with your hair? Your naivete? Unfortunately,

The beer is comped but your time is not. When sought after, beauty is

Only worth it when you have stumbled upon a writer and a photographer

For your own enjoyment. Nobody cares

Until you appropriate Melrose for free, until you yearbook yourself

On Fairfax, in chains and white pants, glowing in thin sunglasses.

As far as Sunset will take us, let us be friends for our press junkets.

As far as press junkets will take us, I’ll still uselessly bring you

A cappucino via your specific taste for chocolate croissants,

Thinking our sweatered pink slippered moments

Were something more than boosting numbers.

Will your need make me tougher?

Or will I bend beneath the weight of your asking?

Doused in oil and black, I would have never signed to

Foot the $15.75 when my account

Scorned me for $7.63.

Everybody wants press from you until you show your

Unintelligable cards. Everything is pandamonium

If you’re not on the list. Everything is lethal

If you try hard enough.

Elizabeth Hsieh