You stand at this looking glass gazing
Through thin slits,
Only to recognize a tired dream, again.
The muffled grin screams:
Where is this being, this I?
…But… what of the agony of truth…and fate?
I am cowering behind
This blithe reflection…
Death will come for the whole of you
(And destiny can be persuaded),
But for now
That tortured smile has died, it serves no more.
Starved of sincerity for years,
Atrophied, exhausted… It’s dead! Rip it off
And bury it somewhere
Far, unmarked. Then…
Offer your raw skin to dread and to desire;
To fear and to love.
Howl when fierce lust mutilates your senses, or
As the cutting frost of grief
Scours out stark flesh.
Turn that carved countenance to the world!
…naked, wide-eyed awake…
I scan my mottled glyphs.