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.