Then the Bras Went Up
So how’s it going, skipping
time? I think okay. I turned
the green eye off, however,
only to realize that fantasy
requires physical proof of
existence. Allow
exhibitionism to turn you
on and next thing you know
it’ll be pegging porn in
tea rooms. Breathe with
ease and comfort. Allow
the body to take over. I
once had a cage full of
rabbits in my backyard.
Now I look for poems
in pillboxes, vaguely
recalling a stew of
rabbit shared with a
dining room full of
Little Rock drag queens.
A spirited discussion
about wigs. But then
someone nearly chopped
a finger off (instead of
a carrot?) and after that
the memory disappears.
Tonight, a new friend
tells me he feels like
putting on his wig and
dancing around in his
room. Let’s rather take
off our bras and go
cavorting in the moonlight.
It’s warm enough to streak
and my path to true engage
ment requires a certain
degree of perversity earlier
and oftener than these
memory banks goldenly
recede into oblivian.
