The Deadly Mirror
are what I hear inside my head:
because the mind’s eye lit the sun.
Must I give up the world
to be saved? Shall I forget
his lips on my nape to write
what I perceive to be a new earth?
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 have achieved
all there is to achieve in this art.
Therefore, I start a new contemplation
of the swallow and I listen to the fragment
of phrases like Imitations, Life Studies
and Notebook. I will never find the one
flower that sustains all the earth.