Photo by Evelyn Cosplay on Unsplash

Let the words come
to expose your soul
to banish
all the fears & fake reconciliations
rolled up in boyhood
when the stream pushed me
into an autistic lunge
beyond all known limits
recalling the poet
I might later be
who could read a river
and never cry
over the intransigence
of all those fools
who spout answers
to questions
that no longer concerns us:
age, sex, race, job, car, status, income?
Instead, as we drink melonade, she asks me about:
giants, nightmares, sky, cats, shyness and bums?
I know which questions I prefer
Do you?