6.27.18
A former busybody,
persistently
too involved with Others.
My selflessness, just a facade:
am I appearing kind enough?
Sincerity melting away
in the pool I am floating in.
The sun heats the top of head.
It doesn’t gleam. It taunts.
On a quest for
wisdom
from the moon.
(It hides from me.)
Whisperings among the trees,
cackling among the flowers.
A small box
in my hands
filled with all of my
gruesome guilt.
Leaking from the box,
it drips at my feet.
I smile,
throw the box, and
run from my own entrapment.
iii xv. 