HIGH CLASS

...i might be multi-lingual
but have never spoken "posh".

i lose myself in a martini glass,
imported windows, and class
with abstract art; hanging like earrings
dripping off the personified
wall...the curtains
swell...giant lungs that are always breathing in
of everything...and there is an opening
sound like a bottle of wine unscrewed
while my pessimistic throat is screaming.

and politics over too many drinks
sound of orca whales in mating season.

but i guess elegance
is always served with a side of intelligence.

it's funny how money
can seep out of a wallet
and become something almost real,
something tangible, made
of wood, a social pedestal.

so a waste of it is fascinating, an
accident scene you drive by on a highway.

in this sickness,
you feel so lost as of what to do,
so you end up looking around
and clapping...as if to praise
the end of a game you don't remember watching
but can't advert your eyes from.

and classes are made this way, and

so you realize with which one you're in.