As if pontificating in a reading chair,
scratching a proverbial chin and smoking a pretentious pipe...
pretending to have just closed some thick obtrusive book
that only the wise and rich are privileged to read,
and looking up to noticeably devote my attention to you…
If I weren’t so aware of my transparency I’d construct my lines
more carefully,
but what’s the use?
You already know that I only believe something for so long.
You already know that I can spend hours expounding on things
I know nothing about.
You’ve seen me naked and scratching, waiting for the
revolution.
You knew before I did that it was all a grand illusion.
I let you because you didn’t attack when the walls were weak.