My fear has nothing to do
with God teaching me lies.
We wore painted masks
representing faces,
the bless-us formula and linear proofs
holding the house together
like a dime-store novel spinning
its tale in a drug store
that doesn’t exist anymore.
No matter how many times you move
the same shadows fall down the stairs;
you watch as the newest star
to come out of the consortium
dances above their heads while
we spread our tale across the gods’ table
before asking them to show us
where it goes.
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