[evolveme]

If you’re inside me at the hockey game,
you’re inside the arena
when the winning goal’s scored and octopi

thrown onto the ice. A Detroit thing,
as in Cambodia, they don’t play hockey
or call it Cambodian food, it’s just food,

but if you’re inside me and I go
to Angkor Wat, you see how tourism
destroys the past. This love of ours

has done little for you thus far
in this poem. If you’re inside me
when I write a letter urging my senator

to vote against the death penalty,
you’re ineffectual in your outrage too.
But it feels good, doesn’t it,

when I can’t decide if I need
a four or five inch bolt, to be the voice
inside me saying, does it matter,

as I am the voice inside you saying,
I am the voice inside you, the voice
beside your voice inside you, the voice

holding the hand of that voice,
which is anatomically impossible
though romantically essential. If you

are inside me I am lucky: I am lucky:
therefore you are inside me: that’s called
a proof. I’m serious: I don’t know

what good the death penalty does.
“Cruel and inhuman” sounds like a law firm.
You sound like everything to me.