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March 21, 2011


walking the night

nibbling at the edges

fearing the day


choose your face

then choose your mask

then choose your angle, and your target.


the fur is not noble,

but patchy and thin.

starved by envy and loathing


the detour, the decoy,

with dumb snarl and vicious smile

bluff, spoil and hatred


it’s always the fraction, the splinter, the part

snuck in between bold sincerities

the grin that disguises the mock

the mock that feeds on the malice

the malice that trickles like acid

through the gaps in the fabric

into the once safe places

unguarded by the innocent



retreat as day breaks

and the harsh light picks out

the seams where the wig meets the skin


back to the burrow

there to cultivate

more malice

for tomorrow

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