soft boots, scarves tying
back your hair, clothing
scavenged from thrift stores
or sewed by inexpert hands.
i've been there - i've stitched in my
uneven way, and rescued
soft and flowing things from
scrap bins and enjoyed every
uneven, raggedy hem from
my own hands. i
can relate to that. the need
to create your own life, instead
of buying it prepackaged off a shelf.
they were hippies, or poor college students
or dancers who liked to recycle or
children of the night who bought black by
the yard and draped their bodies until
they finally believed that they, too, were beautiful.
it's not an isolated theory - so many
live by the same principles, no matter
the era, or what precise thing you abused
to transcend a deadened life
you could not remove yourself from.
through the decades each generation tries
to separate itself from our diseased society
one religion, life-theory, commune,
drug, scar, eyeliner line, rip, and seam at a time.