Neither those I choose to show, nor those

I guard, I am the middle of my vanities:

the shuttered form between the two chevals 

that curves into a swarm of selves unknown.

---

I am the shadow sucking at my heels;

it won’t let go to live a proper life.

I am the leech, the moth, the watching ray

that shines the buzzard’s drawn and dripping wing.

I am the figure rocking on the porch,

rocking as the frost creeps up my shins,

or waiting on the green, decrepit dock,

haunting with a wail meant as a love song;

---

and in the other glass, I am at once

the madame at the foremost escritore,

cut and painted pink, in uniform

with those who speak the monkey language, too:

wonderful, delighted, absolutely

help, my pleasure, yes, of course, apologies.

Helpful out of hunger, though demure,

her smile straight and white, though reeking rot.

---

Hollow

Hypocrite

and Insincere;

Gemini

Bipolar

Profiteer.

---

I face the counts before the clacking jaw

assembled with me now before the clock.

They ask me, have you learned your lesson, dear?

But I’m refreshed and fixed in my directions.