Had I been born in
New York, or
San Francisco, or
Los Angeles,

And not been
Touched with barbed wire
Of knowing what limits
One ought to have...

But that is not
Was not
Will not be.

And so I stretch
Over or under
Or through those hot-wired
Rules that bind or
Might well cut the
Flesh of expectations . . . (Whose?)

This way . . . here . . . is mine.
It may amuse or vex,
Or perplex,
But not fit

No more be said.

CHS, May 2001