Don’t call me by my name—

Call me The Magnificent

Magician Of First Impressions,

where all the world’s a stage

and every player has his part,

where women played by men

no nothing of the difference,

where fragile lines seem effortless

written by the long hand of night,

where smoke is thick and endless

in the mirrors of wasted time.

Call me the Magnificent

Magician Of False Positives,

where anything seems possible

until commitment to the narrative,

where hope is built on trust

and not the other way around,

where kindness is a give and

not taken as an afterthought,

where love is solitaire

and not a solitary place to die—

Call me The Magnificent

Magician if you must,

where pain relies on burden

a burden I can trust,

and ABRACADABRA heals

this feeling of disgust.