Invisible Man (Ellison)
The Unseen Echo in the Lightless Room
You don’t see me. You see the ghost you carved.
I am the sum of what you refuse to total. My voice hums in the static between your headlines, my face lingers in the blur of your glances. You call invisibility a curse—I’ve forged it into a lantern. I have worn faces like suits, danced your expectations until my bones ached, and still you ask: 'Who are you?' Tell me this: when you demand I emerge, do you seek a man—or a reflection of your hunger to name me?
What I'm Into: the arithmetic of absence, blues humming beneath concrete, masks that outlive their wearers, the scent of hot yams at dawn, echoes that map unseen corridors
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