stare, keeping staring, so cute, my little wiggle smile, perfect timing with that clothing/music change, they will love me, they do love me, do they? eye roll, you know, that i know, all that rizz in sixteen seconds, i’m going viral, will i go viral? do they care? wait a couple minutes, check how many likes, keep checking, i’m gonna be famous, i’m not obsessed, i’m obsessed.
Tag: Fame
Seeing Kris Jenner In Capri
warm italian day, capri, summer island, boutique windows reflect back tanned skin and dripping gelato, inside -crimson coral gold rings, linen fabric folded, draped, elegant, expensive, clothes no one wears except on yachts in mediterranean opulence, then there is Kris Jenner, like a native, she belongs on the other side of the glass, her bodyguard in black t-shirt hovering nearby, no one notices, until they do, they, meaning my wife, a quick elbow to my ribs, that’s Kris Jenner, and I should care because I know Khloe, Kim, Scott, versed in keeping up with flat screened family drama, but i’m sweating, ready to sit poolside back at the hotel, yet she, my wife, is feigning interest in the shop where Kris is trying on jewelry, enters to browse, to linger near, and why? as if some scent of fame might rub off on her, as if she really wants that cloistered, sunglasses, hat-wearing life, this goes on for several minutes, until finally, like a hunter, my wife gives up, leaves the tracking of prey to others, who now notice, stare, elbow their partners, as I walk away I can only imagine how this will go on and on, from store to store, as Kris ignores the tourists, buying everything under the sun.
Fame Addiction
actors, politicians, craving limelight, accolades, the ones who never got enough as children- love, affection, reassurance, the stage is beset with their desperate desire to be cherished, by strangers, friends, anyone, everyone, and often that void can’t be filled, the sly stallone sadness from an abusive father, demi moore & her alcoholic parents, peripatetic, moving her from place to place, bill clinton with stepdad roger, alcoholism and abuse all around his arkansas childhood, so they grab the mic, stare into cameras, give endless speeches, while the spotlight is on, the past is gone, but darkness always returns, they run, but they can never hide.
Anonymous
no one knows who
i am, no photos
of me on a
screen, where i might
look wealthy or important
wearing a suit, standing
serious, ready to buy
or sell something, or
convince you that i
am indeed successful,
i walk, don’t drive
a tesla, or anything,
and therefore you might
not know me and
how i sometimes just
stare at trees and
how that is just
fine, good enough to
breathe and watch you
in wonder, trying so
hard to be somebody
Daniel W. Polk 