L'aura del Campo

Not one iota (Dew Drop 7) [18]

Not one iota

He won't pull off the mask he's worn since childhood,
the mist and mirrors mere camouflage,
for his childish fits, his golfing outfits.

He won't reveal the layers behind his lies.
They fit like corsets, dark, constraining;
he speaks in monosyllabic voice,
a juvie choice that never grew
like the belt around his belly.

Button his lips, cross his tees, un-gag his Xes!
Let loose the asses from his tottering cart!

Not one dot, one jot, not one iota...
dare to masquerade as his tiny heart.

© Kåre Enga [174.18] (6.avril.2017)

Dew Drop Inn Day #7: "tiny"

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