..from OF FLESH SCULPTURES AND ABANDONED LOVE.. ‘Faking Revelation’


Should you ever feel like confessing to me
the thoughts you suddenly decide have been
shelter from the cold night’s winds, the

Harsh glare of mirrored light on snow
against your eyes
against the things already known

Do so nakedly as you have imagined
men and women seek
to fake their deaths, and travel alone

Where strangers whisper in urgent tones, able
finally to know
there are none of those of whom we speak

Who do not wish to be the objects on display
of desire held close by all, whom
even now are draped by night and stones

© Dean Baker

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