with variations on two lines by Kafka

At some point, the stars stop looking
at us. For them, life is a costume ball,
but we attend wearing nothing but our
real faces. And our debt. We have our
tea and naps. Our struggles to be kind
to the jackboots. There is infinite hope,
but not for us. The stars have plans
about opening a boutique that wouldn’t
allow them inside. They want nothing
to be left of them but their names
and stylized drawings of their eyes.
Before they got famous, they spent
their evenings looking at portraits
of the backs of their own heads.
We can barely afford cable. Every
door, every eye on the street could
belong to tomorrow for them. They
say light won’t make you happy,
but they’ve never drowned in the dark.

– CL Bledsoe