Bookish
The front door of their house used to be green,
But in a fit of furry he painted it royal blue.
Last minute measures for a wife that didn't
Even really know what colors she preferred.
It seemed to him that the only reason she told
Herself blue suited her was because of the party.
Their lives merely added up to appearances,
Opinions and decisions that simply reflected,
Not themselves, but the aggregate of opinion polls.
He lived merely in the haze of their lives, floating
Around the house, up and down flights of stairs,
Thinking never about himself or the truth, but the
Projection that he built of himself. Not too different
From those little cardboard contraptions one makes
As a child. The kind that catch and magnify the sun
Like a pinhole camera that barely shows the truth.
But in a fit of furry he painted it royal blue.
Last minute measures for a wife that didn't
Even really know what colors she preferred.
It seemed to him that the only reason she told
Herself blue suited her was because of the party.
Their lives merely added up to appearances,
Opinions and decisions that simply reflected,
Not themselves, but the aggregate of opinion polls.
He lived merely in the haze of their lives, floating
Around the house, up and down flights of stairs,
Thinking never about himself or the truth, but the
Projection that he built of himself. Not too different
From those little cardboard contraptions one makes
As a child. The kind that catch and magnify the sun
Like a pinhole camera that barely shows the truth.