I Do Not Know If All Cops

Meaning Grows In The Mind, But The Shape And Form Of The Act Remains.

I Denounce Because Though Implicated And Partially Responsible, I Have Been Hurt To The Point Of Abysmal Pain, Hurt To The Point Of Invisibility. And I Defend Because In Spite Of It All, I Find That I Love.

I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me. Like The Bodiless Heads You See Sometimes In Circus Sideshows, It Is As Though I Have Been Surrounded By Mirrors Of Hard, Distorting Glass. When They Approach Me They See Only My Surroundings, Themselves Or Figments Of Their Imagination, Indeed, Everything And Anything Except Me.

I Was Looking For Myself And Asking Everyone Except Myself Questions Which I, And Only I, Could Answer.

The Act Of Writing Requires A Constant Plunging Back Into The Shadow Of The Past Where Time Hovers Ghostlike.