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Don’t bell jar that mojo
don’t fiddle with what’s true
the little that has reached you
has better things to do
than talk through a haze
that extinguishes praise
by the hour.

You’re like the Venetian
who slowly went blind
pursuing masked women
in search of sublime;
we’re all wearing charms
to cover the scars
of betrayal.

Extend your reach.
You’ve nothing to teach.

I’m not here to rattle
the bars of your cage
that turtleneck you wear
will not cover signs of age
you’re reaching the end
of the lie that we tend
that we’re dying.

On your murals of pity
the paint never dries
while the studio grows smaller
kills the light in your eyes
I’ve broken my jar
I’ve taken my pay
I am going.

The lamenting of boredom
it may see you through
I think you’ll be chasing
a mask yet or two
I’ve a song in my heart
that sings of a spark
it is bringing.

Shatter the glass.
Be done with past.


© Elaine Stirling, 2012