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Oct 2013
Masks seem to superimpose upon a vast anonymity,
faces beneath become slack...forego face-hood.
A strange empowerment surges, these masks cannot
be undone...haunting an already haunted landscape
whilst peeping through eye-holes.
A certain voyeurism of inner terror playfully diffused
where it may.
The head feels bagged, sold and carried around--one
feels decentralized...combed over by a losing of gravity.
A sparse connectivity runs the body deliciously, as if
the consequences of the material world were scared away.
The interplay of what's dead in such a living, gives masks
a life of their own.
All Hallow's Eve all day long...till what collective ghost be
given up to its night.
To wander a night that's pitched itself forever more--
punctuated by Jack o' lanterns that grin and bear...what's
at the tip of their flame's tongue.
Onoma
Written by
Onoma  (N)ow(Y)ou(C)an
((N)ow(Y)ou(C)an)   
635
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