slowly undressing in the dark

mother thou art perfidious and unwise
and father doth a husband play
his role in a doll-house
this is my plastic life.

“mother” i ask her every time,
“have i done this right,”
she nods, and nods,
but never replies,
i must be like a wall
on the fly,
white smokescreen jammed
between a hornet’s nest.

i turn back to watch the clouds
form funny shapes, a dolphin,
a man with a big nose
or a long necked woman
with a turban on her head
fading or at times becoming intense
while the wind sketches it’s lies.

i do not know
but i often think
how people talk of big things,
but you can see they do not know
where they are going with it,

they have learned to love the music
of their own speech;
harsh, soft, familiar,
misty, remorseful,
different keys of the same
miserable piano,

the subtle indent in the pause,
or the long interminable stretch where
the audience loses patience
sweat clouds the brow
suddenly beaten together by the falsetto
and the dubious expression,

somewhere in the midst of this dramatic
there is a slight faltering
of their inane programmed system

that joyfully validates my point;
the silly silly mistake
of earning a living,
pretending to imitate the second
man on the street,
the whorish depletion
of individuality –

the inferno


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