the uncertainties of
unendurable disturbances
that announce themselves
with the plausible coordinates
of illusion location
an identity to elusive
to justify human possession
leaves only the confusion
of such insoluble difficulties
where the finding of this strange image
is at once touching and grotesque
poses the question what is the self?
what are the guarantees of identity?
who possesses such and by what right?
how is individuality secured?
or are we left to the larcenous wiles
of ones own deployment
an illusion that hovers over one
like an appalling malady
exquisitely positioned on the mind
where it basques in the language
of so called neutral expression of thought
where one alone denounces the self
albeit under compulsion of poignant lament
that evaporates among
shrouds and gaping graves
we are all but the
coordinates of illusion