If you want a name
you'll find it between the steps
of ladders, like the bullet holes
of wounded soldiers;
a body riddled
with questions
rather than answers
If you want a being
you'll find something precious
in the ugly, something beating, or
eating it's way out of the chest;
the imagination clumsily chooses
a newborn alien, or a
botched abortion
But no, it's neither
of these things, but it is...
And that's okay
If you want a poet,
colored and racist, a dancer
balanced and limbless,
an actor, melodrama
and actress
They're all yours
for the taking;
Remind me of the woman
who spoke of her vacation
at the round table of a small
town cafe; how she took
a vacation to the rainforest,
and had much to see; and how
her crimson red shades
matches the drapes; after all
it's the time of the month
and it lasts for days
If you want a lover,
you desire a well-lit cage;
and that, my prisoner
is okay.
