I Was Your Free

I Was Your Free
copyright @aladreth antoinette brown


It was a Gold Box Meditation Weekend,
and like homeless outsiders
we packed one wine,
three sparkling ciders
(for the AA members),
one black leather bag,
massage bars in silver tins,
poppers, a book of secret history,
and our Words on Words.


For fifteen minutes we compared
descendants of malcontents,
morality's brew,
Daedalus and zip,zip,zip.


We were clearly at stake,
on the gender front;
exciting, angry, edgy,
suspicious of all beauty.


But, Listen ...
to what two say,
they are strangely disturbed - but
perfect in their own way ...


Eastern boy, jazz page-shell shocked-mother lover
with his blistering chaos,
swaggering bluster and
Western Woman, unstable
as the Earth's shaking axis, preaching
her ridiculous,
"Class For Girls."


They know ...
Our world is bigger,
more interesting,
with LED lights, door pulls,
and Astroturf.


They love Cardinals who confess
their sins to Call Girls,
Bahaman Broke Bound Babes,
and Halloween's foreclosed flashing eye rings,


There's no theories here ... nothing
tremendous at stake.


We are our art.


"What a kid I was," She said,
And he replied, "I was your free."