a debutante is this moment

I was brought here like you,

to be the proud product of two parents,

to be a child-like debutante

of this moment,

somewhat and sort of ongoing.

But upon looking inward,

I must reply.

I am not innocently here as any part

of a debutante is this moment.

Instead I am still in the first breath

of my birth moment,

from before now,

and again and again,

with the feel of any new moment's

stark foreign setting upon me.

I have recently discovered myself

over and over, as a performer,

newly waiting here for this moment

to become my stage of invitation.

I am also a lucid dreamer of spirit,

walking through the walls

of this moment's sassy display.

I am perhaps coming from

unhappy times in my past lives,

here to party in this moment

to get through it

or to get into it to get over it.

I am sadly here without permission

from my inner child at play,

yet to freely appear

in this moment's celebration.

I am partially a slave to the shackles

of this or any other moment's

accessories of distraction.

I too am reluctantly swayed,

looking for love

to continue to come through

in this moment's blind entry.

I admit that I am a poser for now

as if my personal baggage

were outside of time.

I probably will really be

in avoidance this next moment,

preoccupied within

my addictive perceptual style.

I am filled with a crush of expectations,

cramming the bottleneck of this moment

with disappointments

that will eventually come and go.

I am prepared to be a litigant lawyer,

ready to summarize

any other moment's value

against this moment's maddening display.

I feel that

I am a sufficiently damaged goods

to dimly weather this moment

as another in a long line

of personal disasters forthcoming

and yet driven to blossom and shine.

I am this party of twelve heartfelt moments

with only a table for two in mind.

I am myself this annoying splinter moment

in search of a someone

who has tweezers for me sometime today.

I am often a reminiscent historian

prompted by other great moments

to indulge this one

into a story time passage.

I am a gossip columnist's all-ears

for this moment's innuendo and here say.

I am the 6 p.m. news

in alarm of this moment’s worthiness,

just waiting to verbally anoint

another 15 minutes

of in-my-eyes fame.

I am all this

bundled up energy of light,

in this, as always, a somewhat

stop gap moment's restraint.

I am jaded enough

to offer the kind of lip service

that renders this moment off as passé.

I am this crying towel moment

yet no tears of joy or sadness

seem to have timely arrived.

I am this dreaded but private

sunken disemboweled moment,

paradoxically in a greeting line

of friendly moments' fair shake.

I am this adrenal

have-you-reached-a-verdict moment

that sees jury foremen

as every minutemen in my face.

But then, I am most always

a timeless spirit in witness,

dressed in hopeless cynic drag

with centipede rights of passage feats

undermining all

these other moments'

emotionality spillage

out of my way.

But for now, this now,

for all that has come and gone,

am I still as,

a debutante is this moment?

Well, in an ageless way,

surely more yes and than no

but I can't really say . . .