Sunday, February 26, 2017

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.

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