Each day the carousel carries
envelopes of verses, written
in invisible ink, with no claimant.

Plaths, Sextons, Lowells and Ginsbergs,
the cummings of internet age
come with vivid faces
from every corner.

Beautiful pages pirruette
beautiful symmetries,
patterns and shapes,
which communicate
in a different world
many pretend to travel.

I see them peeling their cactus faces
with sandpaper; some add lipstick,
eyeliners and cross-dress.
There’re some who wear wigs
of hematite hair,
wings of stealth fighter,
propellant tanks of ICBMs.