i cannot tell.

i suppose to those
in muddy robes
its all too understood
how everything goes

and so somewhere in a burrough
a theater girl works,
fastidious fingers
and elegant notions

and i place my potion
in a miniature tea cup
placed upon miniscule
ceramic doll house tables

everything around is
very small and vicarious
i am brash and gregarious
and she might not be grown up enough
to understand this

but as it were
i have no time
to fall in line
and appeal to
unfamiliar standards

i can only imagine
that i have impassioned
something so rare
into her hemisphere

im tossing rocks
at her beautiful frocks
i am for real
and she cannot reveal
whats under the sheet

she is incomplete

but so am i