Homage to Timor

That is my deepest fear, I think

That the glittering image I’ve so carefully constructed

The giant iron effigy built of passions and aspirations

Is hollow as the sockets of a skull long sucked by worms.

The confidence is cracked like Roman stones

Flaws crammed closed with off-color wax

The whole massive mess of a person crumbles when thunder upsets the sky.

I subtly suspect that I fit the mold most excellently

And lack the strength to break it—

The assumed extra appendages of talent and dreams are common to all

And I have no way to escape this niche in the assembly line.

I’m inclined to believe people are kind, too kind

The kind of kind where they say you sing beautifully

But you know, deep down past your vanity vocal cords

You match pitch to the harmony of Furies.

All I have is contained within this pale and simple frame

And this, my powerful and most pervasive fear: 

That I am made, blood and body and soul, of carbon copies

That nothing real seeps from my mouth or hands

That upon the hour when my soul floats free

The ruins of my counterfeit lifetime will not outlast the roll of the earth
And will disintegrate in likeness of the lost pieces of Pompeii.