any second i will be exposed found out the fairy tale emperor nude on the street not that anyone would notice for after all who is interested in others more than oneself enough to pay attention that closely to find more than surface faults a button dangling loose on a thread a slight intrusive consonant shift when speaking after several drinks a thought would never be noticed embedded as it is in the language like sand wedged into an oyster a small irritant yet still enough with time so obviously it is not the stares and laughter of the people on the street that make me cower like a simpering sycophant but the fear that i will expose myself to myself the mask removed as yeats went on about reveals another mask but to me without a mask it would be like staring into the face of god annihilation not because of the omniscient presence but rather the omnivorous absence that waits beneath all the fluff and blather that spews from me like the clouds of black ink from a squid in full retreat it is safer not to look to avert my glance to watch the sand dance then settle to be stirred before again returning to the shore certainly never watch the waves nor think about the moon stay at home burrow deeper instead of breaking walls cast up more i self advise mask upon mask layer upon layer bury everything beneath a multi hierarchical camouflage yet without a convergence without a center to be revealed bury the sarcophagus the king is dead long live the king
(from primogenitive folly, August 2001-April 2003)
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