My pen pokes through the fence with ease.


If you can’t contain this smallest tip of me

(You can’t)

The rest will slip right in.

I’ll be an illegal immigrant

Hiding from the floodlights

Belly to the ground

Cash and my new face

Strapped to my back.

No Ellis Island

No great lady

To welcome me in.

Just the arbitrary borders

The gate, the gun, the hound,

The clerk holding my money

Up to the light,

Like he can see through it

Like it will sprout butterfly wings

And flitter over

All these places I’m not allowed to be.

(It will.)

Bond lives in West Windsor with his wife, Wendy, and son, Tommy, and works in Forrestal Village on Route 1.

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