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.