Masquerade Man

Cover yourself in pretend

to forget the nights that 

made holidays inside of me and     

 

your nose. But nobody does except

that mucus bridge between your eyes

 

and their love of the mirror  ( but only

when the lights are low.)

Those eyes that can’t sink, not lower than

 

your wreck,  rotted wood with no stiffness

inside  your nudity—there’s no elusive X

because I  don’t care to draw the map.

 

Remember when:

the shaved legs you volunteered

rubbed my political statement, my hair?

 

Remember what you spread

inside  (pink noose, fake

feathers) my open-for-suggestions mouth?           

 

Remember:

I will never pay you

—thanks— since you learned to sell the free soap

of your  one-room castle to anybody else.