call and response
every time you bring me to the point of questioning, i bend
o immaculate queen of streetlamps and audit benches
leafing through layers of what is presumed and claimed
i do not like feeling this naked
or looked over with strange eyes
there is hesitation
on my part. a part of you
senses the inner gasps and approaches slowly with a lamp
i stay more hours, staring and smiling
in my head, there is a cowardly exchange with legs
urging me to safety, to a place empty of reasons
still, you ask why
i do the things i do. i say habit
what to do with this much restlessness
a cookbook suggests i steam
seasoned first, and in quiet concentration
but my cooking takes so long
too long that you drive to the nearest fast-food and back
you say it is karmic that we hold such contrasting takes on consumption
i say i could attempt to grease and stuff up things instead
you laugh
i remain subdued and gorging with reasons
