Deadly Mirror

Deadly Mirror

Inconclusive thoughts,

what I hear inside my head.

My imagination flutters like a swallow,

and cries like a hungry baby.

I sit and play the saxophone

in self-contemplation.  The mirror

tells the truth, but not enough

to merit constant thought.

I am folding inward over and over.

Six inches of words

and I am betrayed, hypnotized

into believing I achieved

all there is to achieve in this art form.

So, I start a new contemplation

of the swallow, and I listen to fragmented

phrases, read life studies,

and notebooks, of his memoirs,

the flowers that sustain all of earth.