There's the Halloween costume
which is meant to be figured out,
no, you're not a naughty nurse,
you can't be an army soldier
who should be fighting far away.
There's also the joke's uniform,
the TV shows meant to trick you
into believing in big groceries
for the price of a nickel and penny,
or that a little boy was president
of a corporation selling chocolate.
You're left with egg on your face
that you've fried and salted yourself.
Then there are the devious identities
that are meant to trick you into hope.
The newspeak fellow on the TV
who blames all of humanity's woes
on a group you don't like very much.
Or the rich boys and girls who flip
off the police and rave all night,
making you believe your own acts
are as equally blameless as theirs.
Even as mysterious are disguises
you cannot see and never will see.
If I could tell you what they are,
I would, but I can't find my own
in the universe that I'm part of:
city streets camouflaging them,
nature hiding them inside gardens,
a lunar sea covering them in the sky.