Crossing a mythical line
To find a space filled with ignored signs
Doubts raising in the act
In fact,
They were collected by the light
Carried by a bat,
Only at night
They would sound more alive
Have you found the rustle too loud?
You're in the box of the hound
Yes!
The one that has been kept in chains
So they could be proud
They tell you to be rational
So you cage my yowl
Or should I say ours?
YOU ARE READING
The Faces Of Nudity
Poetry◐∇◐◐∇◐◐∇◐◐∇◐◐∇◐ What am I when I don't need to pretend? When I am my own company? When I am in the comfort of a quiescent place? Our true faces remain hidden under expensive suits and cases. And "The Faces of Nudity" prompts a different gaze to the...
