Secret strangeness seeps its subversive acid
beneath painted veneer, through the tatters
of my reputation, the turns of conversation.

Dirty strangeness grabs a dusty old photo,
in an unsettled glance that awakens
that selfish, rebellion spirit, the anima.

Snoopy strangeness kills with a word, a question
what do you mean? What’s it to you?
Why should you care? What do you know?

Monster strangeness chases me down the street.
Keeps me awake checking the dark closets
and barricading the rickety oaken doors.

Naked strangeness will not let me lie or hide.
I can’t make up stuff. It will not let me deny.
I run like crazy and still I hide, and still I lie.