Last name, Middle initial, -

my childhood is not your childhood,
never could be.
I have memories of churches in the city, with little hidden gardens,
You may not.
So if you keep asking me these questions about now,
how can I answer the way you want?
This is not simple, it is not like I have any insights.

I have lived with snakes in the streets and camels under me,
but I have hung upside down from the monkey-bars of a park,
and ridden my bicycle down suburban lanes to Askew.

I stood in Stonehenge before the fence went up,
and danced in the Haunt to the Sisters of Mercy.

Form me from the dust of your impressions,
add water,
stir.
Yet that golem is not this man,
I lumber in a different gait,
thanks to my cowboy boot fetish,
my laughter,
this eyebrow here.
I’m just going to tell you that I dislike forms,
am a captive to aesthetic beauty,
and have danced alone on the inlet at Gould.