Elegy for Disguises

Tonight the gig is up. The frozen over lake is all slush
around its borders. It isn’t fooling anyone onto its drop-

down dancefloor. The branch above meets tree at ragged
rupture, no body will trust it with its weight. So, too, should

we think of the night. Its dark looks full enough but is no
good for hiding, too easily surrenders our shapes to passersby

who barely even believe in ghosts. But this is hardly a song
of disappointment. There is joy in knowing what will give

and when. It is easier to walk the plank over a current-
free pool when all the teeth are sleeping. It is easier to close

a door when you know the lock is broken. People are buried
like shit nowadays. The dirt keeps nothing. They are on

the screens, in the voicemails, dripping from the walls. So
even the end is broken. The needle skips. And knowing this,

it is good to hear the pauses where a new word or two might
or could or maybe—