A CATALOGUE OF MIRRORS
I have a catalogue of mirrors I walk
through every day : some lead me
nowhere. Others are doorways to
places unseen; changeable matters
and stories that bring alternate
scenes. Mostly, it's a pleasurable
enough jaunt, though there have
been times I'd rather wished I'd
stayed away. Again, no matter in
the making of all that I have seen.
-
Transfixed by twisted images, or
occasionally the grotesque, I've
soldier on through thick and thin.
These mirrors disguise realities,
throwing convex ideas into concave
scenes; altering each digression,
making the broad seem thin, and
the thin more lean. All in all (it
could be said) a hall of mirrors
worth the harbor of Hell.
-
Streets that sing with sadness seem
both twisted and straight; different
directions paddling into each other.
Am I the one, then, to second guess?
Should I even be looking for what is
correct and, instead, allow these odd
alterations their lives on their own?
-
How far can one man step into an
ocean of dread before he drowns?
( I have a catalogue or mirrors
where smiles are frowns, and
mourners - madly made -
become clowns).
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