In this secret world, caught between the confusions,
my superiors have made me feel too self-important,
underpaid but with theoretical blank cheque
in the cosmos within the country within the city.
In the circus of deception the audience faces the tent
applauding the shadows of the acts within the ring
where the lion-tamer is—in fact—a taxidermist
who’ll never admit that the lions he tames are stuffed.
The skeleton in my flesh has been somehow turned.
I walk in the public world like a guillotined ghost.
Charm’s the veneer. Inside is a tissue of lies
nourished by barium meals and by chickenfeed.
The skeleton in my flesh has been somehow turned
Text: Niall McDevitt
Graphic: Nick Victor