If you could take off your mask
as you try to learn what is beyond
your Western understanding
for two seconds, I might believe
you could be what you aren't prepared
the divinity that lies in you still
carries a loaded rusty gun and
compassion doesn't know your address.
I contemplate your words and
the surreal meaning they convey,
begging Freud and Jung for some help.
And as your meaningless consonants and vowels
lie on the red couch, bursting the morning
in confetti and subjectivism,
my poor Geography disdains your developed country and sub-self