ADULTS
What my comprehension can’t muster, my pen must explain. It distills a complex reality into items of my understanding. On the knife’s edge between black and white it summons the truth. Lately, your faces have demanded translation. Politics long in turmoil, you’ve taken it on the chin. I collect the lines on my commute, and bend them into submission when I get home. You appear before me, out from the wash, warts and all. And with each face the revelation, I only used you for a mirror. That the pursuit of your essence, arrived at a different truth: That’s me in the corner, losing my religion.
Opportunity Knocker
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