Beholden

There I lay, in a separate dichotomy of his life;
his dirty little secret; the scandal in his pocket;
that compartment of his trousers; that he would
reach for- when no one's looking. He tells me it's
that pesky bumaround fear of his; the fear of
the whole wide world; the fear of the world
who fears us. But what should I tell him?

That I would hold his hand; put our faces against
the glass panel that juxtaposes their fear of each
and other; that there was nothing daunting about
us; this place; and themselves- that we are the
ones beholden to no one; not even this stupid
ragtag institution we call: society. I would hold
his hand if I only; he only would; Or have

that dream replay in fantasy;
and never have it come to pass.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:37 am