Following on my post about nonchalance, a meditation on how we accidentally fence ourselves in:

This is not a gate. My soul
is passable; I keep control
of any blemish in my fate.
This is how I always dress
to show the absence of a mess:
a wall of iron lightly tressed,
but not a fence. I hate pretense.
This is not a carapace.
Avoid interpreting my face
for truths you could incriminate.
The best defense is making sense;
the gate you see is not a gate.