Fedora Shadow
de John Greaves
I dream Hermaphrodite and I sit up all night
Our eyes on the horizon of a wobbling bowl
Heads in hands we ponder dregs the bowl contains
A liquid's left putrescence after being drained
What we feel we have to solve
Is why the dregs have not dissolved
When I wake I wonder what it means
Am I bad alchemy? It seems
I image self unmixed, a risk,
In a dish for drinking
Fluid with a strongly stinking sediment
Is that what it meant?
I dream Hermaphrodite and I sit up all night
Our eyes on the horizon of a wobbling bowl
Am I hermaphrodite?
Neither one nor quite the other?
What we feel we have to solve
Is why the dregs have not dissolved
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