—YOU OUTTA POCKET

 

 

The Emperor’s Old Clothes

 

      And you can have it all, my empire of dirt. “Hurt,” Nine Inch 

Nails

 

 

Afterward I sat on shag, 

ensconced by two dozen 

mounds of thread and cloth, 

a million intricate stitches, 

my tailored life all there,

a thousand different disguises

 eyeing me askance, 

each garment an alarmed juror 

just daring me to fling the match,

to make a torch to see by.