Day 232: Vogue

Ever so often, I take a long, long hike into the land of  "what if?" Not so much in an attempt to escape my present situations or change my life because actually, I like most aspects of my life. Sure, there are certain aspects that aren't entirely ideal, but who among us can't say the same about their lives? Overall, though, I'm fairly satisfied most of the time these days. 

That wasn't always the case, though. There were times when I was stuck in a dead-end job or without a significant other to spend the hours with when I spent most of my waking hours feeling and believing there was something different that I was meant to be tied up in. There were other locations I was meant to be roaming among. There were other people I was meant to be mingling and interacting with--to the point that I often wondered why I was so preoccupied with places and people and experiences that had no basis in reality. I wondered what it would take to be able to immerse myself in what was right in front of my face. I think youth had a big part to do with my confusion. 

As the years passed and my maturity grew a little longer in stature, I was more able to put things in perspective. I had a better mind for the present. I had more patience for the here and now, and I had a better acceptance for what was in my immediate realm vs. what was not. But there are those times still, as infrequent as they may now be, that I still wander off on long trips to the land of  "what if," ventures in which I imagine the alternative worlds that certain actions or reactions might have created. 

I think as a father and husband and son and friend and brother, I do important work on a daily basis, but there are days when my imagination teases me by putting images in front of my face in which my work is  devoted in other areas. Those images are usually filtered with a heavy dose of selfishness, but I have to admit, I enjoy those flights of fancy for what they are. There's something to be said for having the freedom to do nothing but explore whenever the urge hits and to satisfy any urge that freedom enables. I wrote the poem below on one of those days. For some reason, it has a positive affect on me. 

Vogue

Passing waiting-room minutes

in the pages of Vogue,

I invest myself elsewhere,

waking in NYC,

owning Paris,

tainting London,

breaking souls in Rome--

anywhere escaped of Nebraska soil.

I’m stepping out,

smelling fine,

entirely dashing,

completely sublime.

I’m a poet haunted,

painter revered,

actor possessed,

songwriter gone gold.

I’m self-made,

self-aware,

self-contained,

self-assure.  

My model accessory,

she's so skinny good,

fit to be tanned,

a sophisticated drunk,

a bedroom treasure.

My cigarettes burn sweet.

My liquor fuels favors.

My cocaine lights fires.

Another daybreak ignored.

My apartment bears witness,

pitches no black,

divulges no cracks,  

entices the elite.

Only the elite.

Only the elite.

Only the elite.

Only in the pages of Vogue.