Preferences
babysit
my imagination,
and
Woody asked;
Is it the artist or the person?
And
I
sit lost in that lobby
coddeling
the unreal,
protecting
my hope and
truncating my
question.
no sight
no smell
no disposition.

I
haven't
seen you
in
13
years
but still
I have built a city
around you
and declared
you Queen

Is it the artist
or
the
person?
I
sit
afraid
of embracing either truth
because I
know
the answer.