Embraced, by this misshapen brilliance – and he sits with his mind for his hidden utensil
Out-for-lunch and he carries with him a chip on his emboldened shoulder
No less the Kool Kat who captures to cradle all of the cream – sidled snide-eyed alongside every other person’s Hollywood dream
Just. Not. His.
Living, breathing, seething within the underbelly supreme, therein lies an undeniable supremacy
And we feel it, of course we do
James Dean… let it be
Was he, perhaps, creatively incapable of understanding exactly what he had?
When acting the maggot became his living, breathing, soul-filled everything… his unwavering and inexplicably endless legacy
Bound for relinquished brilliance
Perched cigarette, sabre-tooth, multi-balled intrusion created to trans-generationally confuse
The car-smash to bring it all back – To. Life.
Soon as one such Times Square photograph of a young and lonesome Fairmount-bound man who’s been heavily-accosted – heavy-coated – takes memorable Stock
Seems to be the case he’s left himself to east of breathing
A rebel who caused our thoughts to pause
And it appears to be that his haphazard handsomeness didn’t hurt too much either – gentrified by kindly
Yet, still, living, breathing