The Madame of Secrets: Poetry

Wasting amid definitions,
a disembodied self hovers
over man-made mountains
of false idols glossed over 
with crass cosmetics 
inside the seedy enclave of 
Misery's Bordello

Where the oblivion of pain
becomes the pleasure 
of vindictive lost hopes 
drenched in the sweat 
of pragmatic meaning

While the voyeur Imagination
lounges in a chair
absorbed in the gyrations 
of misdirected angst
decrying illuminated travesties

With time, 
one may just discern
the harlequin lady smiling 
with nightshade grin 
moving through the closets 
holding a carnival mirror 
that reflects every sin and virtue
while revealing nothing of herself:
The Madame of Secrets.

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