disguises

dark and stark, we mark our souls with spray tans and lipstick,
covering the truth from the hovering valkyries, just doing their jobs
as they wander the outer edges, the sedges and sediments
of our cryptic confessions, morality a compass and impediment sent
to make it just a little more like a test and we wrest tomorrow
from the yesterday that clouds and crowds the moment, tears soft
like the frayed edge of a ripped pair of jeans, speaking of times
when the shearing force was enough to split the fabric.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.