(here's a quick one. I'm trying to say something which inevitably makes my poems suck more. I don't know if that makes sense, but anyway. Here's a random one that's not very good and that I may actually edit one of these days...)
My clout is a print I pass around
Absurd affectations, I police my face.
Acting on the stage, wondering
who is the director?
I burn all my bridges to puzzle you –
my absurd affectations.
Bitterly cold with overcast skies,
but still too bright. I put on sunglasses
while I mince my words.
I smile with my teeth, button my coat.
My clout is a print I pass around:
strong and happy with pinstriped suit pants
and a form fitting t-shirt.
You believe my amiability.