"See Behind Doors."
Refusing memory, not forgetting, but rupturing.
One body erasing another.
Unzippered, unmade.
I could never know his true face, the demon inside,
the demon nest of sundered selves.
What he cowled, with skin stretched to eyes and glass,
with scarred through slippage and shape shift.
I knew the face he chose to meet my own, mercenary ardor,
calculated bone, say nothing of crimson eyes.
Trick of flesh, human guise, but nothing of prima materia,
blackened with loam.
Nights, the oiled wig revealed a ghosting of sycamore
on the stone wall.
I almost missed the bestial hum.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]