one of the things that came up in our fireside chat yesterday was self deception. i just stumbled across one of my poems that is somewhat a propos:
the king and queen arriving
and we bow before them.
arrived, we also have arrived,
knowing the words that clothe them:
“how beautiful her skirt! and his lovely pantaloons!”
clothed, we’ve clothed them,
covered up their nakedness,
never to be seen again.
never to be seen again the truth of their skin,
the hollow of their knees,
the look in their eyes when they are not shaded,
not shaded by the hats with which
our dour imaginations have crowned them.
“if you love something, you set it free.”
clothed, we’ve clothed them.
covered, swaddled, iron-cast in clothes.
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