Hip to be niche.
There is a place east of Vine
where it’s hard to imagine the denizens spending time
doing dishes
washing their
hole
riddled
clothes
so hip are they
so inhumanely chic
they can barely bring themselves to begin to
speak
Not to us who prefer a crisper jean
who sometimes buy clothes on whom
we
are the first they’ve been seen
few
if
any
intentionally ripped
Torn
between their world and
mine
I’d find myself to be
if I weren’t at
home
with everything
everything
almost
everything
I
see.
