JONATHAN BALL
The Rusty Toque | Issue 13 | Poetry | November 30, 2017
from LEATHERFACE RETROSPECTIVE
Three Masks of the True Face
The world does not hide its true face from us. A hydra has one head: the one it offers to the blade, that writhes unbloodied in the dirt, the head that never dies to spite all legends. Three masks hide hiding itself, cover up that there is no conspiracy. These masks are the true face, the world what is the case. We deny this, think another world lies elsewhere, slip sharp knives into soft necks not our own. What we see is the world. Behind its mask peer eyes that do not see, but we see them. Masks change but glassy eyes remain, windows framing just another frame. ThroneYou wake. Your hands are bound to other hands, wrists upturned for the knives that never come. In front of you, your friends make up your meal. Light shines, burns through one mask. Another mask bleeds darkness. Everything is for you, you are their guest. You are sitting on the throne. You would give anything, even your soul, if you could stand, if they would let you close your eyes, but no one wants your soul, just open eyes. This meal was made for you. You are the guest. You are sitting on the throne. |
JONATHAN BALL writes fiction, poetry, screenplays, and criticism and teaches literature, film, and writing in Winnipeg. Visit him online at JonathanBall.com, where he writes about writing the wrong way, and follow him @jonathanballcom.
