Materialism is Easier Than the Truth Will Ever Be

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My birthday offering for you adorns my desk
It’s a notebook
We always give each other notebooks
It’s crouching there
Iridescent but incomplete
I know I am supposed to write in it
It’s what we do, after all
But I’ve never been as good a liar by hand as by tongue
And I’m not quite ready to shed my façade
So put on the blindfold, quickly, quickly
Tie it tight while you read my words
Scan the impressions with your fingertips ever so carefully
And maybe then, just maybe
You won’t feel
The tears of an era past staining the page





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