It would be worth your time
to learn how to lie,
sir. We can see
the smoke rising from
your pants, can see
your nose growing;
perhaps these are illusions
as well, tricky lighting
caused by the waving of
your flagship hair, the shadows
emptying from your mouth?
Sir, we can’t see you behind them —
unless all you are is shadow?
Sir? Are you nothing but smoke
and bad lighting, only a simulation
of human — some kind of
puppet? Sir, understand:
we are asking, do you bleed?
Do you weigh anything at all,
sir, or is your incorporeality
so galling to you that you feel
you must stamp this hard on the world?
It would be worth your time
to learn to be a better liar, sir.
Your smoke is showing.
There is nothing in the mirror.
