These my offerings,
tiny and fragile, they must take root
in stubborn soil. Fertilize them.
Give them shape. Twisted they may grow,
but their trunks must be strong.
They must reach through the night.
They must be of their ground...
Some of these poe...
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For my next hobby, I believe I will take up birdwatching. Not that I dislike sex, mind you – the play is fun, the politics engrossing and the people who seduce me, downright fascinating. It's just that I want to see the faces of all my friends when I inform them of this new pursuit: "What?" they will ask, stunned. "It's so noncontroversial, so safe. Can't you at least take up bungee jumping?" Ah, me. You see, once you're an established pervert your pursuits are always suspect. They'll never take your model airplanes seriously unless the blueprints can be proved to have sadomasochistic overtones, or (at the very least) you've painted a pink triangle or a riding crop on the left strut. But birdwatching it will be. I shall even endeavor not to sermonize about the strange proclivities of the yellow-bellied sapsucker, or to court my would-be lovers with my latest kinky impersonation of the Baltimore oriole.
