How quickly,
my children
do our past selves

come home
to roost

rather like chickens

We are reflections
of how and when
and who and how

Playing
Marmalade-sticky
shell games

of those who
have no shells

Once I robbed
the talents
of those

who have no shells.

Those who play
the game deliberately
have deliberately
burned their bridges.

I notice the
intonation changes
the pauses and
the inherent discomfort
of being true

Neurosis
merely fear
of the expected
unexpected
expectations.

It occurs to me
I am not known carnally

by half the people
who say they know me.