Me, myself, and I..
Already always
makes a three.

Son of The Mask
that hides
a mirror image
of The Father..
to The Spirit
(not the letter)
of The Word..
encoded to
a string.

Alas, the mask
comes off,
the mirror shatters,
and the string
is torn to characters..
The All of which
are intertwined
by narrative
threads.

What joy it is
to be alive
and living
to the fullest..
overflowing
goblet
at the feast
of Death.