Privacy: The New Cuckold

A man sitting on the ground in an empty room, dust visible from the light streaming through the windows

In the one pale beam cast across cracked and lonely planks, still tender from the touch of quiet carpentry the (e)motes float and cavort One blink and not even the brazen sun can re-move them to dance their fortunes splayed for all to see and make privacy the biggest cuckold you ever did know

If lucid thought be that which you seek then spinning and tumble-dry dusky corpses of memories lost to murky sights and lidded carpet rooms are all that will greet you

Trace these patterns into the surface of your harlequin glassed eyeview and watch as rainbow-scented photon gods reveal your for(tune) to shimmy to to hornpipe to smoke in your vision obscure

But only a washtub made for feelings wrought of iron which has made a truce with King Poisidin for safe passage can travel to the other side into tomorrow morning Strange land that our tingled and fancies cannot step into barred like Eve like Adam forever trapped outside frozen into this cube