The Professor Describes The Mask Of Notsouh

The Professor Describes the Mask of Notsouh The mask is difficult to wear. You can't see what it means, Nor can you quite see past it. It only hints. It doesn't say. Mistaken for a flying machine And useless as a parachute, It's awkward as a bunch of pillows Strapped on the body front and back, As you leap from the second story, Providing little comfort when You realize that crunching sound, Like deep cracked knuckles, was your spine. It can be stretched to cover all And be worn anywhere, like living In a polyester leisure suit That hides the way you really live Inside the 80s all your life, Although the goats gave you away. It lets you be a lounge singer Whose covers crack open cliches You've had to swallow and then share In your revulsion at Bob Dylan, The vomitus of pop culture Reeking of rotten eggs and bile. It lets you play the magician Whose act fools no one but himself, The waiter who cannot deliver Anything but appetite. It lets you step outsides the classroom And reach the kids not in your class. It gives you time to play your endgame, Between the glittering hotels

And danceclubs that go bankrupt weekly. It's storage for your memories, A place for music no one hears, For art that fits no normal frame, For poetry none understand, And home for drinkers with ideas Not available in the local papers. It cannot be removed by fire Or taxes, though you may move on To new expressions of the chaos That hides behind it in your heart.