Those who carry nothing within
are forced
to decorate the outside.
And since no thought
drips from them,
they exhibit their skin—
for skin
is the last temple
of the empty.
Ah—
these preachers
of the ring-light and lens,
how desperate they are
to be seen—
for they do not
see themselves.
They do not live—
they lodge
inside moments,
and each of their smiles
is like a notice
of…