Poem: Layers

 

Layers

 

we can’t see much in mirrors,

or even clouds.

 yet there's too many phantasms

to distress our veneers,

our flesh their mutable ache.

 

too many twists under sub rosas.

we’ve lost accommodation.

 too many tyrants in the belfry

who lack clockwork in their swagger-

and-cloaks.

 

when the tower of our strata collapses,

what heart, if any, what truth,

slouches the dunes of flimsy rubble?

==========================================

5/28/24 ... 

"truth is the product of orderly systems" --  phrase that came into my head just now

1/24   ... "dunes from our hearts"  replaces "the dunes"