(exit)

for you,

the world is still a new place



still a face wearing adventure



in a coffee shop

to meet new aromas & friends.



for me...

it is over.



coffee shops

and slaughter houses

share purpose.



never ask me to read poetry

at an event for children.



even adults can not stomach

the needed words.



for me,

it is fire.

for me,

it is the clockwork of revolution

returning to roost,



if i choose,

poetry is but a tool.



the taper of discretion;

left to dressmakers

concealing

the insecurities of women.



as for me and my house.

we will dwell in my head

and soon

publish a book.



not excited to shake your hand

i dont swell from oooh's and ahhhh's

except with vomit

and a need for fresh air.



sure you might be beautiful

and might have worn your best make-up

but that is not enough.



my desires are too simple

for your social mind

your complex lack of self

your overbearing circle.



your hug too impersonal,

to impress me any,

and i will not squeeze any tighter

nor wait for compliments.



(walking off stage, out the door, and gone.)