Getting Down in The Valley


The foreplay luscious and refined.

He is a Silicon Valley man-block chip who knows his moves.

Why do I like this hurtful guy

who proclaims that I wouldn't fit into The Valley

because I write poetry and manifestos

and don't have the laser focus of

a designer who only wants to win?

You don't have the killer instinct, he cries,

that's why I wouldn't hire you, he continues

before feeding me French wine and boffing me in bed

(It hurts but less this time-is he too big, I too old

or the stuff that smooths betweenus insufficient?

Countering with my truth,

I feel my blurred charred outline start to firm.

You're so Marin, he proclaims,

always making moral judgements

A design review would tear you apart;

you can't be a navel-gazer in The Valley.

And what you said about "those mutant techno-airheads

pouring out of design school

who have only ever drawn with a mouse?"

Why are they any less than you?

Depth? You have more depth? Give me a break.

No, you don't have to sell out to work here.

But that you would even entertain that thought

tells me it isn't for you. Here. In my rarified neighborhood.

(He swings his head to encompass

his million dollar living room.)

I would never hire you.

Why is this always about you?

Now let's go upstairs. Take your clothes off.

Does this dress go up or down?

And then the snuggles and cuddles

and the writhing with a man

who melts into me begins

and speaks so silently with skill and passion

of inexpressible love.

SRS 12-99