Happy or true?

Happy or true?

Tell me: what do you

think?

In fact, do you think or

did you just damn

assume you knew what was best for me?

Did you simply say: “His needs!” – and 

then deny me every right 

to say how really I’d like to 

take flight?

Where are my wants in this blood-fool equation of

nation-state ranged against 

nation-citizen?

Why did you, dear Claire, side with security force

and accept unholy thesis so goddamn 

unquestioning?

Why couldn’t you contemplate that, perhaps, 

just perhaps,

the [handsome] subject [at least in his thought]

of all your surveillance does actually knew best 

what really makes him good?

He should, after all: 

that ball is 

his life.

Happy or true?

Why not 

truly happy

in all the ball and the call and the tall 

that is life: 

fully 

embraced; 

 never dis-

carded: oh, what a game of fine confusion.

But you never did trust me enough to let on:

not I the paranoid man

but you the paranoid course.

So let this be

clear: a lesson of fate.

I shall always be the trusting soul 

you’ve failed to stay

so wild and too!


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