The filmer's heart:
caught between thieves of
just & wisdom
wrapped in that haunted silk embrace,
with silver metal folded twice to form
that frozen ache of yours
so clear & perfect that you mask it
in glass cages draped in ash
& hidden in walls of lost lovers.
you think I let words of literature
cure my disbelief in you,
that because of lies you make
you'll view the Hare's Ghost,
capture her sorrow twice,
& weave it into the ugly society of your mind,
only to control & demean her.
& while your dementia sets in
those hollow blue eyes,
you'll only be graced with the shadow of what I've
become.