Black Denim by Joe Nasta

I was awake when the music stopped.
but my body kept dancing: it whispered.

​

This poem was never about you.
This poem was never about Arthur Rimbaud.

             America is about finding a poet to worship.
This poem is about you as me and me

as him. This poem is about us all finally listening
             A poet always gets what he wants.

to ourselves.

Something personal buried itself inside this ode,
inside our lives as recurring dream.

When a poet has power, a reader has power.
When a body has power, a mind does.

                 When a poet tells you

                 to take off your shirt, you do it

                 and you kiss him.
When a man texts you, he tells you

                  you’ll have to be shirtless

and my arms lift above my head, sing

                  maybe pantsless too

and my fingers untangle my belt, scream

                   because a poet always gets

                   what he wants.

In this way of being that has become so familiar
I can pretend that it’s what I really want.

                    can you do that for me?

The music stopped.
I knelt in the sand at his black denim

                     always

stuck inside this body, begging
                     give me what I want.

Somewhere in my love I did steal your humanity.
We do have power in these bodies.

When the music stopped, I kept dancing.
Know now I am awake and I will not beg.

I will keep it. I will keep it.
I’m not asking for permission.