I never knew you wore a mask,
Not one stitched of velvet and lace,
But something deeper, carved in silence,
A role you played without a stage.

They called you charming, bold, and bright,
A leading star in life's cruel play,
But now I sift through tattered pages—
Scripts you wrote, then cast away.

Each line rehearsed, each smile strained,
A careful act, a practiced art.
But somewhere in the endless stage,
You lost the echoes of your heart.

Did you ever dream of slipping out,
Of shedding costumes, painted grins?
Or did the role become so seamless
You forgot where it begins?

Your laughter filled the hollow halls,
Your voice rang sweet, devoid of doubt.
Yet I can see it now—between the lines,
A silent plea you dared not shout.

And when the curtain slowly fell,
Did you expect a standing cheer?
Or did you hope, in some cruel mercy,
That no one saw you disappear?

I found the notes you never spoke,
The truths you buried in your chest.
The world’s applause still lingers hollow,
Yet you have finally found your rest.

So take your bow, oh phantom friend,
Beneath the lights that burn so bright.
I only wish I'd seen you sooner,
Before you faded into night.

The gilded age watching over
The laughs echoing from the stage,
The lights dancing as they turn the page
Transition to the next game, checkmate.

I've been here the whole time
We've been discussing the Bidet
And the cult following they accrued
A total of thirty followers ensued
Enough to make a documentary.

A burgundy suit all picked out
For a wedding in June to Jess and...Jess,
All ready in a chic black dress,
All the suggestions flow and go and know
And the audience rings with participation
With suggestions--with bait.

Hook line and sinker, baby,
Knock it out for the win,
Come on roll us the dice
And spin us some sin.

Back through the tunnel,
Lights through a funnel,
Guiding the way, pushing away,
Away from King's Theatre
Away from the laughs,
Away from Sam and Sam and
Jacob and Jeremy's spats,
Away from Lou and Kimia too,
Vic is left on the stage shrugging,
Away from them too.
Giavani, a ******* queen,
And Shutup! Kurt needs to say something...
I love you all and to thine self be true
There will be nothing like this performance ever again,
And that memory is thanks to you.

It was a sparkler,
Alone in the night,
With our laughter we held it alight,
It burned for longer,
Longer than eight nights,
The oil from the latkes
a bubbling, browned delight.

A moment in time,
A moment of laughter,
A moment of silence before the disaster,
A time and a place and a place for the memories,
Don't underestimate the time you spent here.
Remember everything you can and hold it dear.
Cherish the improvisation,
The luck, the dice, the trolls, the rights,
Let it all simmer,
Take it to a boil
Under these spotlights.

That's life.

Yes, those, these days,
the survivors
of these days,

we saw things our fathers
never imagined mortals could see

subcategorical weforms, evolved.

Some… subcategorical weforms
informed the world's conservative
branches
on the tree
of life… some
informed the latest cultivars… some
branched more citrusy, sour notes
become letters loosed
as knots
on ancient init-iation rites, keys
for the priesthood
of qwerty people.


the exalted authority
of incense burners,
and chanters
to the eerie flutes
of bone,

the high church liturgy
of order preservation,

Jongleurs, called forth,
as organizing engineers
of interfacing windows,

all, could leave, let be

the universe-ifying re-
ality, as realizable,
awesome
as a we
really
as a we, if
we agree, aggress
progressively, re
garding who can
know which lies

are legal,
because the Bible depicts
Yah himself loosing a lieing spirit, yes,

long justified
in all Bible authorized churches.

Evidence, that one may lie,
to protect the innocent or
to revive the mystery…
to be revealed…

As has hapt… evidently
we got away with it, that they say,

this we, we involved
in evolving,
as we think and reason, balance,

ratiocination, really, weights
and measures, balance useful

against cost
to become useful

what does it cost
to worship life? Value, at scale?
What price has been put on grace?

Knock, knock yokes.
Open deception,
become broke
beguiled, but convinced,
there is a trick
to making life,

some secret, kept
so some souls enslaved
by fear fed them as a child,

become guards, predicted to be
needed after prisons went commercial.

Train up a child
in the way it should go,
when it is old it will not depart
from the greatness made believed.

Witness those bred
to play football, the attitude,
is always ready, for some football…

mind relaxing Aztec version,
heart and soul, all in, big time!


The hero sees the end, his own
steaming heart on the altar.

I write my paradise
While my soul is in demise
I write to escape
In words I take new shape.

In you I had an ally
Until against me you planned a rally
For order and control
It was all just for show.

I loved and still do
All the good I saw in you
And when the moon is anew
I'll pray I never met you.

I gotta ask

myself, am I mad, or is this that day, again,
did we make a plan to finish something again,
and not do it, again?

I do believe, we have settled that both ignore and
believe are verbs in a modality, meaning

if you do not do it, yourself, it does not get done,
I believe ignorance is an active state, sold as faith,
evidenced by things unseen,
substantially manifested
in the peace you hoped
to find, being yours
to make up, in your mind,

and let it drift into reality, as we breathe our
insides out,

there could be a word for that.