In a cabaret I am myself. There is the dangerous expectation of success of a joke, a note, or a dance, and the reality that you are naked before the audience, and have given them the right to judge the inner most parts of your being.
You’ve forgotten the names of your homemade saintswho crowd in the dark behind your thin lids.In the veil you’ve drawn betweenHere and Not Here, they...
*With gratitude to all who contributed to this crowd-sourced list poem following my social media inquiry
I’m so sorry that happened to you.It makes sense...
