Secret deeds bigwigs did wayback 
and unbeknownst even to themselves
have dirtied our city yet again. So us 
modest ones clamor yet once more 
at palace gates. SOS. Our minds
are all one mind and so our masks
all gloom one woe and our wails
are as one as well. “This government
we insist should overthrow itself 
should do something!” I myself remember
back in the day when great men 
were half-gods and ate their sons. We 
ourselves still don’t matter much. 
The important new democratization
turns out to mean half-goddesses
now get to eat kids too. “Thou shalt not
suffer a witch to live!” we’re chanting
all together through black mouth holes,
though I myself yearn to scratch
my nose. Be ready. At any time a knock
on the door, a chime of the phone,
and, lo, there is the one who says, “I
am the one you gave away.” Coming
for love so long owed. Or to say
a hate so long hoarded. Or for money—
hardly ever just to say hello. So 
many mistakes. Yet since our fender-
benders at four-way stops
aren’t written in those secret codes
squirming in triumphal sperms,
nothing but shards of colored plastic
litter our city’s streets. We’re just us.
And our fathers, good or bad, 
nothing but themselves. Nothing
to lose or gain, we never marry
our mothers for money. At the end
of each tragic day we throw off the masks
and each of us sings our own songs
out of our own real faces.