Bob Hicok - A Private Public Space lyrics

You can't trust lesbians. You invite them to your party and they don't come, they're too busy tending vaginal flowers, hating football, walking their golden and chocolate labs. X gave me a poem in which she was in love with a woman and the church but the church couldn't accept four breasts in one bed. When I asked if our coworkers knew, she dropped her head and I said nothing for years until this morning I realized no one reads poems: my secrets and hers are safe in verse. I knew she'd have enjoyed the Beaujolais and I want to meet Dianne, Mona Lisa, Betty, Alice, the name's been changed to protect women who can't stand in a room holding hands because you can't trust heteros**uals to love love, however it comes. So I recorded the party for her, for them, the mic a bit away from the action to catch the feel of waves touching shore and letting go, the wash of moods across the hours of drink and yes, some grapes were thrown and I breathed the quickening revelation of a cigarette, someone said “I gave up underwear for Lent” and I hope they play the tape while making love. As if finally the world's made happy by who they are, laughing with, not at the nipple lick clit kiss hug in bed and after, the on and on of meals and moons and bills and burning days of pretending they don't exist. “Who's she? Just a friend.” And oceans are merely dew upon the land.