the earth must be flat again
while we have dinner with a belly-dancer,
invent fortunes as the night begins.

i stumble
back onto the street
& have money returned
that i did not need,
did not want.

argue along the length of newtown
it seems silly, but there is a point.
& in the shaking of hands there is no time
to tell you that i don't need
a lecture, a license to live.

i say that flowers belong in bins
when given out of pity, not desire,
but you don't understand
but how could you?

you are not me.