Other boys

Them other boys don't know how to act,
those broken hearted boys with fists of spun gold
Those motherfuckers don't know how to act.

Some boys swallow guilt, spit blood, choke
on insincerity, fucking what is convenient, old
them other boys don't know how to act

but I flourish under blacklight, snort poetry in coke
form, speak from the poise of gentle knight, valiant bold:
Those motherfuckers don't know how to act,

and we get bad wraps, the punchy coat tails of popular jokes,
palms bared for slapping, we cry out when elders scold,
"Them other boys don't know how to act!"

What's left to speak of those boys, that hasn't been spoke
three, fifteen times until the memorized refrain holds:
Those motherfuckers don't know how to act.

We are those boys of youth, of one breed, of shared yolk
vagabonds until given time to regret and unfold -
Them other boys don't know how to act
Those motherfuckers don't know how to act.



+ Alesia, I don't know how I'll forgive you for forcing a justin timberlake line into a villanelle. It's like fitting a warhead into a clown car and hoping for the best. This is the resulting tripe.