My Love,
you have the right to remain
silent. Anything you say
can and will recorded
in my pillow. If you desire,
you may request a transcript
of every crushed feather.
You have that right, too.
Knowing
and understanding these
rights as I sing them,
are you willing to answer
without a moon present?
Put your hands in the air
and walk toward me.
Tell me what you know.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.
