i say i will

i say i will 

not shudder

but i do 

and i feel 
a certain injustice 

that says more about me 

than you 

and you 

knew this 

and i do

too

men and women see places in the night differently

men and women see places in the night differently

men see doors and the kind of entrances and exits

women look to the windows and all the glittering 

i lingered by the base of the tarpeian rock on a winter evening

and i imagine the kinds of shadows and echoes that floated

high over plaster ceilings with oil lamps held by slaves 

and the ramparts supposedly secure a night owl calling to another

we are responsible for everything we do hero or villain

the response and magnifications of the world are harsh 

even absurd to the level of myth that keeps one forever wondering

when were we truly innocent &

trying to remember all the feelings

when one was 

that way  

*

 

"Honey, Mr. Bee is not from dimensional space ... "

 "Honey, Mr. Bee is not from dimensional space, so his attempts at humor will be different from ours. But he is not harmful. He never has been." 

"Yes darling, but when he turned your face blue, it was just for an afternoon, and Mrs. Simmons wasn't bothered by rhyming every other word over that 3 day weekend. She said it felt novel. She is a poet, after all, and she still teaches him poetic theory on Wednesdays."

"I will talk to Mr. Bee and remind him, most firmly." 

The caller then noticed me, after he had placed his phone in his pocket. "I do apologize if my conversation was too loud." 

I shook my head.

"In any case, our lab is funded though the public, and anyone is welcome to attend ... a totally open and above board program, with no hidden agendas." 

I nodded.

"Here is my card, you are welcome to drop by anytime and talk to the Departments."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh, the Departments? Time, Space, Novelty, Linear Theories, Circular, Things, Clouds, Weather, and Harmony."

The train pulled up to the station.

"Goodbye!" said the caller with the card.