| FINAL BOWS dedicated to one of my college friends, Gary aka "Psycho", who I hope I get a chance to play softball with again one of these days I sit and watch helplessly as my life as I know it walks out through the door. All the masks that have dressed me, that have defined the parts that I have played, take their final curtain call too soon too soon gone from my sight too soon gone from my mind too soon I am left exactly as I made my entrance: a clay mask not yet dry. The cast party gathers after the performance. Strolling through the crowd, I find comfort in the company of make-up, costumes, and well-rehearsed scripts. Such things wallpaper my room, hang from the ceiling, really dressing up the place; making my home feel like it couldn't possibly be more devoid of life. If each decoration is a work of art, and each work of art has a title, then "Friends", "Achievement", and "Good Times" are what I call these things that adorn my walls. With no breath to call their own, I would gladly impart some of mine in order that they continue as they always have: my ever present collection of masks. |