Sunday, November 23, 2003

A netsuke balancing above us

only says goodbye. Without pretense
it is a penis and a mask.

Yesterday, we saw three foxes,
those that would eat our apples

before our orchard burned. Since,
a figure rests in our bedroom’s darkness

and we guess what Focault knew.
Visibility is a trap.

We look for beauty in the objects
around us, and sometimes do not notice

when we are lied to.

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