The beast that follows me,
Does it matter it’s not real?
Or that is chases someone else,
Who I merely pretend to be?
The breath is nevertheless hot
As I’m reminded of all the ways to get caught,
Being a free and thinking being.
There is no place for that here, it seems,
Where pigeons and violets map the clear day
And cellos and acrylics spontaneously play –
What is in us that wants a cage?
To be admired like an impossible pachyderm
In some place I can live,
Where friends can easily find me,
The place that I can always pretend to leave,
The possibilities for escape richer for being confined.
