We were both in the dream, talking
about words forbidden to state workers.
“What if someone called their child ‘dear?'”
You answer, “They might think that they
are a hoofed animal?” This is the way
we are. Cracking esoteric jokes.
But we are essentially alone in our bodies.
Sometimes I feel trapped, like an aquarium
fish bumping at the glass. I feel
suicidal at night and hopeful in the morning
as red flowers of the Rose of Sharon
pop out fleshy and erotic one by one.
It is Independence Day. A white
cabbage butterfly bounces down asphalt.
Everything is dependent on something.
The caprice of air, the availability of nectar.
The way you graze my lips as we walk
toward each other down the hall.
About the Poet:
Jane Blue has been published widely both in print and on-line, including antholgies, books and chapbooks. recent publication includes Avatar…
View original post 111 more words