Poem: Layers

 

Layers

 

we can’t see much in mirrors.

or even clouds.

 too many phantasms

distress our veneers.

our flesh their mutable ache.

 

too many twists sub rosa.

we’ve lost accommodation.

 too many tyrants in the clockwork 

of a belfry of swagger-and-cloak.

 

when the tower collapses,

what creatures, what layers,

bereft of masquerade,

slouch the dunes 

of flimsy rubble?

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9/26

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"