Blind to our worst faults.

Fault Line

They lurk in the black hole of denial
our flaws that others see or sense
yet blind us with such gravity
that no light escapes

until we see that dreaded mirror
the face of an angry lover or friend
exposing our nest of inbred hornets

male vanity that puts woman to shame
manipulation cloaked in stealth
conceit playing 24/7
on the stage of a parallel universe

starring ourselves in every role
gluttony of flesh prepared to order
fantasy at expense of reality
our way of listening without listening

except to internal music composed
as scores to even scores
the lyrics
imagined intentions.