hidden at my core
is a small, dim light
what you see is just my shell
going through the motions
everything that looks sincere
as well as
everything that looks
faked or false
everything that seems solid or fluid
everything that seems remotely static
that shows I’m settled for life
into the nest of my identity
every cuddly blink
all the sighs and furtive glances
at thighs and backsides
all the human moves through the fair
all that action and lust
it’s all just
a package of motions
I’m going through
every rage at insult real or imagined
every dangled bait to draw attack
every sneer and morseled-out hateful offering
to war-doctors and high priests of the blinding
just going through the motions
so the world won’t notice
the dead lamp within
still stale and cold
everything I do out here
is motion — is lies
masturbatory once
now tedious hideous and old
dim light within like
a salt lamp rimed with dust
I tried to shine brightly once
but failed and started this pantomime
now and then thinking
my motions have become me
and I them
I’ve begun to forget my light
it remains within
and continues to dim
but now and then it flares
I cannot predict or explain when
but when it does happen
I stop moving for a short time
and try to remember which I am
the shadows of my motions or the light
