I am not the person
with the obvious
revolver, dagger, razor,
stiletto, knuckles, slingshot.
Everything is concealed.
In my dreams
I constantly sleep naked
in public places or scream
in the temple
in the middle of the sermon
or the silent prayer.
Outwardly, I go along
with the self-contained
smile and any
breach of the peace—
the urge to pull the alarm-
just squirms in my mind.
I put a curfew on my life
and was careful
each time I dialed your number
not to speak.
When the police finally
called and called
I let my recorder take it,
because I could not
stand anyone finding out
how difficult it’s been to be
so good-how I’d let you in
to kiss and kiss,
your rough hands on my breasts,
until I felt
you’d never forget
me, my number. The violation
is Section 132.001,
the man with the siren
in his car tells me at my door-
the punishment between
$25.00 and $500.00.
A judge will decide. You
will not retract the complaint,
not remember us
in the delirious flash
of autumn-the penalty of the coming
winter seemingly waived—
breaking all the rules,
ignoring the falling
leaves, as if we’d dazzle forever.
I heard the devil-gods applaud.
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