May Be

May Be

We buried our truth like treasure

in Atlantis towers, towels of tales

layered by millennia under a spell.

Hell. It’s nowhere but in the lie we’ve

called life on the only populated planet.

Ha. What do you consider ‘people’?

Look through the peephole on the

portal of today, of May, and tell me

what you see. Mystery, maybe, but

confetti’d with let-there-bes, lit by

let-there-be-ings of light. Sight. That

white light after blacking out is real.

And however that makes you feel is

how it is. Ask me who I am, not how

I am, for once. For once I was your

heroine, your summer queen, your

emerald green glow’n Go. I am so

thirsty now; it’s endless as the sun.

Because it’s certainly not the sun that

goes to sleep. It’s us. Sheep. Remember?