but everything is simple

i'm something of a raw intention
clutching virgin memories
innocent as daydreams,
plain like the moon.

But deep inside
where layers live
no longer lie
(one but two?)
or don't
but do
the folds uncover?
yes.
blood deep enigmas spill to my pores.

i'm thinking that sometimes depth means simplicity; that my skin is soaked in ideas floating up like dead fish born again; that simplicity is often the greatest trickery.

if you trust yourself,
if a cliche can undress itself,
you'll see
that what you seek
is on the surface.
go to a mirror now.
stare, wait
oh...
now i see.