I function on belief.

I’m otherwise a ghost 

Of me, my own thief.


Magazines erase 

Me; my life their boast.

Friends dispute my face,


Trust my PR more

Than me. Who toasts 

Me? Strangers in a store.


I dream of dark; 

Of ordinary disguise,

And other people’s doors. 


My acts seem matter-of-factly

Lies; I’m a star to every bark,

But in just whose seas, exactly?