Cera (sara)

cera-grey cloud that lets out a pretentious sigh
my drug-induced happy clown tricking me into believing that it was all
fun and mischievous
stained eyes, celebrity smile, hips made for breeding, ghetto bootie,
titties, and a look that cast doubt that you were who you always said
my smoking at five in the morning sitting on a wooden tired splintered
table gazing amongst the fat grey polluted skies of tokyo, wearing a
tight dress talking for hours about buddhist philosophies and
promiscuous lays and did yoga as my mind was dreaming of the good life
in bright colors we never saw in dismal drench city
oh, cera
and it was me and you that felt too much when everyone felt too little,
you were my only lost part running beside me, the times we fucked the
times we didnt, the men we used the cigarettes we smoked half-way down a
street that fell out of our limp hands because our drunk bodies never
could keep it all together
the tight tops and stupid faces made by women who wanted men that we
bought maybe to fit in
the time I held you, the time you left me in a dark alley leaned over a
dead rat and when I awoke with the unnatural sun in my eyes and fell
home and asked you why you answered, "because you looked so comfortable"
now, cera in yoga and tripping in a lost bustling train of a city with
your pretty skinny boys and topless girls and on the phone you accused
me of leaving you
and it was all I could do
and it was all I could say
was that the horrible city was bringing me down and I needed some trees
to which you replied that you were my tree
and maybe you were but did you have any leaves to give?
And maybe i'm stuck again, and baby I loved you and I walk through all
this tired space keeping track and starting and my room smells and if it
doesnt have to do with my laundry I dont care, and I should be reading
or studying thankless words my cracked sober brain can only stare upon
and not digest with the right accuracy anyway
and I thought of you today
I walked the path to your hotel
I dragged myself down an alley to hear your voice
I ran the mile tired and blind
and then I could only find you in my dreams and then it was only your
sex parts I found
and on the phone i'm deprived of your smell
and listening to you on this or that with him or her is such bad suicide
oh cera, your little indian girl with her spacy head and silver shoes is
torn between blue jeans and blond hair and all the trees are green and
all the rivers flow, only I dunno where they go
and December's comin' and December's here and I aint got any sweaters
and if you were here would you keep me warm?
My suicidal burnt out promiscuous princess looking for a new skirt and
some religion in some city what city? Could it be a city? Dirty drunk
tokyo. When will you go to bed and have you eaten? Tripping only
drinking water riding the trains back and forth forgetting your stop
remembering going back, all over again
staring in a mirror and your pale face smeared in colors amess and your
hair wild and you wonder what that girl is thinking before you realize
it's you cera, and you giggle
oh, cera have you forgotten yourself, because you know i'll always
remember my crazy topless buddhist baby

jade sharma

Copyright © jade sharma
January 1999

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Copyright © 1998 A Small Garlic Press. All rights reserved.
Created 1998/4/28. Updated last on 2000/7/17.