It’s Tuesday again
I meet the doctor in the square
I hardly recognize her
Without her shiny leather boots
Red hat, black cape, long beak
We creep along the alley
To a secret room behind a bookcase
The carnival’s begun
Psychodrama
String of pearls
Through a mist of rose water perfume
The buffoon welcomes us
To the living masquerade
A poorly disguised, two-faced peasant
Steals our identities
And sells them to the King
Devil horns
Gold-leaf trim
And we sink into canals of blackening ink
Our wrists bound with ribbon
Our pockets full of cash
Infinity filtered through a pinhole
The unmasked world is unworthy of my soul
Infinity filtered through a pinhole
My persona shattered like a crystal
Psychodrama
String of pearls
To deem a flower beautiful
To deem a belief your own
The self-same spirit guides you
And they say you have poor taste
I assure you–I’ve seen the lilies
Pressed between the pages of your Holy Book
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