We're going to
a swamp
but we won't
wade in,
just skirt it
until we
find a bluff
overlooking
where we
set up camp
away away
to hold
physical congress
emotional court
with battalions
at the ready
as proof that
we are not just
animal bodies
but something
Other altogether,
(or at least
wired
to think, believe
hope as such).
Under oath
I confess
I can't
draw scones
from the
tap or
bake
something
so
primitive
as bread.
I can't feed
myself or
anyone else.
I'll tell you
every little
horrible thing
about me
so you'll
never ask.