Sophia Zeteo
Be Alive!
Every pair of white shoes
Every Starbucks
Or chain store
Or chain restaurant
Every golden retriever
Cramped in a tiny apartment
And every nuclear couple
And every new baby
And every girl
And every boy
That you avoided
In high school
Can be met with kindness
And a smile in Manhattan,
Just like everywhere else.
Rest in Peace,
You gritty, dirty tramp!
You may dream of
A Phoenix or a Lazarus,
Or a Spring,
In its peaceful slumber, sure…
And who knows?
Maybe someday…
You’ve really got to get out
Of that line of thinking,
Though,
And be the gritty dirty tramp
You wish to see in the world.
Be a real obnoxious loudmouth bitch!
Be terrible!
Be the person no one wants to see
Make people say,
“Oh my God! What is that!?”
Be creative chaos manifest
A real magnificent spectacle,
Tear up politesse and expectations
Do what’s right!
Do it for the people!
Do it for art’s sake!
Because what else have we,
If what we have is a quaint quiet city resting in peace?
What I mean to say is, it’s possible
In any place where people meet
To be a group of tramps
And to be proud of it
(Beware the police)
But if you want it,
Consider it your duty
To be the new dogs
That trot freely, anyway
Read poetry to bums
Scavenge the alleyways
For fun
Forget political correctness
Forget your kindness
Consider it a sort of ritual sacrifice
If you want it,
You must do it!
Because no one is going to pretend to like it
Not if they had somebody and somewhere to be
But they really, really would like it!
Really, in all honesty,
Convention and stagnation
Wants desperately to be freed
Through you!
The people are waiting for you to free them
They want to make love again
Even if it’s only a vicarious masturbation
They want to be inspired and shocked and ignited
They want to have passionate fights (not on the internet)
About some useless bullshit
They, too, want to cry from rooftops,
From every fiber of their being
Every cell wants to be awakened and scream
Out, in the name of love and in the name of rage
In the name of joy and life
Against the dying of the light
In a real physical exercise
Toward the sun or the moon
Or in the cold, wet rain
Or some timeless natural element
That we all share
Even if they looked out at the moon
Just knowing that you were out there howling to it…
We all dream of this
In the New York City slumber
We all want to be there
Don’t let your energy fester into a bitter, muted rage
Or some robotic movements stuck in distress and pain
The braver ones, or the ones who must, anyway
Have to make the room for everyone else
To be fully awake, alive, and free
Rise all ye who give a damn
And don’t worry about the elusive death of the city
Be alive and uniquely disgraceful in New York City
Be your worst self!
If you’re yearning to be alive and breathe free.
Sophia Zeteo Art
(917) 792-9855
sophia.zeteo@outlook.com