AN AUTHOR'S NOTE

I observe in retrospect that I have written much
in that once blank pages are now filled with scrawl
and me and you and them may misinterpret these indentions
    these monkey's Hamlett and dog's Mone
as my thoughts... my fears... my hopes... my heart

And perhaps I think upon reflection
of how I am exposed
that these rhythmic lines are too much
the illusions I present, and the riddles I encode
may be but a Sphinx's riddle

Once devious, unpenetrable
now common... a magnifying class instead of a kaleidascope