Of what's not real, even if not
Especially important,
Breeds a special kind of lie,
The kind that scrub jays favor,
Busying themselves with false
Caches to keep the real ones
Hidden, the kind that pharaohs
Tried, constructing false chambers,
Hoping to keep grave robbers
Away from the heart
Of their pyramids
And usually failing.
More and more, I find myself,
My true self defined by this
Ostentatious signaling
That here I am burying
Treasure buried somewhere else.
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