Illusions in Reality. Art, Love and Caffeine

Cupid’s head, decapitated, set in stone, 

Mounted as 


Fountain-head, spits A

Stream of water, 

Which arches and frames,

Park grass 

Overlapping the horizon,

Adorned with picnic tables, 

Shelters, willow trees 


The occasional dandelion.



Black specks leap

In the distance, additional focus 

Transcribes taxonomy 

Adjusts their shapes and adds fur, 

Whiskers, bushy tail.

Shadows remain as fashion 

Without clarification. 

It’s obvious 

Another silhouette follows a lilac bush

And the woman reading,

A Critique of Pure Reason 

Builds her profile atop the concrete,

But when alone with the shadows

What remains?




An impervious illusion. 

Marketed as moral superiority,

But broken down to words 

Amounts to failure.



A blanket term 

For the human condition.

Subjective, yet, conforming to 

Mass appeal and the same melodies 

Sung among capitalists and preachers.



Yes. Shadows are hallucinations.

Built to censor questioning,

Of what remains

When the lights go out.

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