The mask that burns like a
violin, the mask
that sings only dead
languages, that loves
the destruction of being put
on. The mask
that sighs like a woman even
though
a woman wears it. The mask
beaded with
freshwater pearls, with seeds.
The plumed mask,
the mask with a sutured mouth,
a moonface,
with a healed gash that means
harvest. A glower
that hides wanting. A
grotesque pucker. Here’s
a beaked mask, a braided mask,
here’s a mask
without eyes, a mask that
looks like a mask
but isn’t—please don’t try to
unribbon it.
The mask that snows coins, the
mask full of wasps.
Lace mask to net escaping
thoughts. Pass me
the rouged mask, the one made
of sheet music.
Or the jackal mask, the
hide-bound maskthat renders lovers identical with night.
~Carnival
