267. The Conjuror

How many parts
moonshine
are you;
how many parts -
moans and sighs?

How much of you
is pain;
how much,
poetry?

How many parts,
mystery;
how much,
misery;
how little,
mercy?

How much of you
is desire;
how little,
despair;
how much,
desolation?

How many parts of you,
music;
and how many parts,
magic?

How much of you
is smiles and candor;
and
how much,
shame;
how many,
secrets?

Does it take
a lot of ferocity to be you;
how much fear
does it take;
how much
freedom?

Very persistent,
was the conjuror
I smirked at, disdainfully
at the bar.
Very persuasive.

Do tell me -
he said
- what you are
made of?

Maybe
I will
conjure you up
tonight
so
I can rid you of
this delusion of uniqueness

I rolled my eyes
and gave him
my number
(to get rid of him)

The next morning,
there were so many of me

I was invisible.