They augment their lips with silicon smiles.
There is no solace,
no hemorrhage of caring and tenderness,
no blood vessels of commiseration,
no sinews of sympathy,
only
swollen mouth,
etching to compliment, to be complimented
to brag
to dazzle,
only
eager -how do you do- s,
shake hands, empty of soul
frozen touches
living burn marks in your bones,
harrowing you so deep
with the frostbite rake of their eyes,
under the hypomimia of their masks.
They are our horrors
the demon that we externalize in our indifference
yet they are aliens
the camouflaged wickedness
The Mr Hydes hidden in the dark side of the moon
all glorious, all the Dr Jekylls,
all the harshness we internalize in order to survive.
They are too tactful to say the truth,
too pragmatic for love,
They feign so sublime
in recitals and concerts
yet dissonant to the sounds
of music and poetry.
They are the very distance:
delusional,
yet more real than our unison,
sourdine to our harps,
to the sounds
of “The music”
- that once was nothing but everything, -
disappeared in delusory expand of space,
aliened incubuses of vacuum
that only survive
in our silicon
barbie dolls fantasies.
