He appears before me;

Cloaked in aubergine.

Meters of spun cloth;

Cut, creased, and tapered;

To say forked things.

 

A diatribe in soliloquy;

Sounds all the more convincing.

 

I once stood as he;

Bespoke, bold, beautiful,

Undeterred by truth,

And followed him confidently;

To salvation, to perdition;

Happier either way;

Than where I stand.

 

Stripped, shrinking, ugly,

Marred by knowing;

That the tailor’s marks are temporary;

That the cloth will be unfit;

That I could never afford,

But borrowed things.

That I am ill-suited;

For his desires;

For his promises.

 

For his words;

They offer all,

And nothing.

 

(c) J. Manuel