But Who Painted Our Glasses?

By A.J.R. Mennon

How keen to peep through the painted glass

Leaning up on a windowpane to let the sentence pass;

How keen to condemn, how reluctant to approve

Wearing spectacles stained and handy moralities

As the favour is returned— but what’s improved?

Is our lustful mining a comedy or a tragedy

Taking this one window, for our totality?

Would we be better off with concrete’s opacity

than marry what we’ve dug out with veracity?

I’m willing to raise a wall, but are you?

Of course, you wouldn’t have it, wont’ you?

You must appease the soul-chaining posse

Or they shall further tighten the noose;

Even if invited through the door, all properly,

You’d clutch hardest to those windowpane images, dear.

But I can’t blame you too much— I serve Them as well.

Well, then come peep and tattle while our true

Character’s story sinks forever

In convolution’s sea…

What can we do if They deal in

The quicksand of entertaining

but dismembered truths?

To survive Them, 

The very same, must we not too

Continue?

By A.J.R. Mennon