we do

your sadness comes out
in skeletons, feathers, and brain blood.
mine in noosed sheets.
we both imagine we are rock stars
with our necks, our arms, our middles insanely unaware of the voyeurs at our stop light.
you, sad man
you, sophisticate
you
and me.
you with your skeletons
me with my knotted sheets
we
do this.

jan 27 07