Today, I bought a bagel from a just-off-the-boat
Asian in one of those one size fits all, cookie cutter strip malls.

Like Imperial era Brits that had not yet developed
the sense to forgo wearing wool overcoats in Africa,
I watch the corporate drones dressed like me walk
across the 85 degree air-warmed black top in their long
sleeves, ties and business suits so they can stand in line
to buy the inferior version of a good none of us need.

For some reason I think of geese that, although they can fly,
are flattened as they waddle across speedways. 
“Evolve or die” the expression goes, and I think
I am possibly witnessing the onset of post mortem rigor. 

“Fancy possum rise, see corn chew soul wine”
proclaims the wisdom from the side of a file cabinet.

The declaration is formed from the random
magnetic words someone stuck there to provide
an outlet for creativity within the confines
of available squares, which is tragically meta in form,
but I find the phrase itself oddly profound and
ponder the existential meaning of “chew soul wine”.

I feel my disguise envelope me so I can walk here unobserved,
the ring on my left hand the only clue to my real identity.
It only matters if people think you are ordinary if you really are,
and pretension of the commonplace is the price of freedom at night.

When I enter the citadel, my costume hits the floor
as Aphrodite welcomes me with a kiss and a smile.

Here, I am free to be myself and study artifacts,
fight zombies, discuss Venice, or just make love
in a sanctuary we built together, which brings to mind
something the Bard wrote about embracing the time to
“Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing”.

Through this ongoing process of (re)construction
I am free to both be myself, and become better.
That is now my true identity, so whether the world thinks
me a rogue, or a hero, or a bore – I know I am loved.

-- by TropicalSnowstorm, 10/9/2012