in response I

I hear you speak of escape,

of a dirty bus stop at the edge of the earth

and single bag packed with the essentials:

a toothbrush, cat food, and sex--

but I am told by people to mind my step

to fear bombs in the ground, in the sky,

and carried within holy men and pregnant women.

I am told to stay away from folks with clothes on

as I cannot seduce them all.

On the tiled bathroom floor, where I write in isolation,

my laugh echoes through steam, at people and you,

a naked and limbless poet.

I laugh because bombs need not scare me away

from the anti-social creature man has become

and the call of the open road

has been out of tune for decades

people are bears in caves,

and I prefer water.

My universe is made of water.