mirror – poems 2 die for

ECHO

STUCK

stuck a mirror
on the wall

opposite
the shelves
containing
my kingly
horror collection

clown
down the drain
Jack so dull
when the words
not flowing

wonder
what bricked up
behind these booksp
(technically closet
skeleton can
never
read
its reflection)

mirroring these spines
such a blessing
              that when I die
they
   will not need
to search
to find whereupon
           read

scare themselves
to death

MONSTERS

we expect
better of
our monsters

more
from them

we demand that
they be
fully
institionalized

but there again,
demand is perhaps
too strong
a word

we wake
but we
do not see
unfortunately

and thus cannot
but fail to notice
that we
fail
to notice

that in the mirror
everything is
reversed

not upside down, as
radical theory Zizeks
would have
us overthink it

just simply reversed
take a quick squizz
on your way
into the world

and you could be forgiven
for not thinking
the monster is there

HALF

HALF

these are two
selves

mirror dark
mirror light

mirror day
mirror night

they are
fighting for control
fighting
for your soul

tearing you
down the middle

winner to be
the one

with the bigger bloody
torn off half

MONSTER

the mirror
is always there

follows you
screams at you
to keep looking

a mirror monster
may just
step
through

and you
sitting with your calculator
using calculus to
broach
the number of atrocities

you need to fit every piece
into the puzzle

see the landscape restored to
how you have always envisaged it
how it
has never been, perhaps
(logic, splitting fragmenting even
as we talk
through this)
will
never be

and the mirror monster at last
smothered under the holy rock
and stone of
countless tiny mountains
of atrocity

so many bones the foundation
of the Everest you are building

it is death zone up there
upon that glorious peak

SPELL

SPELL

strength loves beauty
beauty
loves strength

gold, silver
hard and fast law of attraction

hard truth
soft reception

for better or for worse will be
forever mirroring each other can

never break that spell

AFTER THIS

AFTER THIS

after this
you ask me

not what
forgiveness

but what
salvation, what
resurrection?

but in the absence
of principle
I cannot answer
I do not know

mine is a ramshackle
up-down, on-off
lesser evil, beyond
good
and evil kind of spirituslity

but this is
a crime beyond crimes
in the eyes
of God
were he willing
to open them
were he
prepared to see

and all this
blood
this carnage

it cannot but have stained us
smashed that mirror into
shell shrapnel, bomb
splinter sized
     needle-like fragments
the one
     in which
divine likeness
         was seen

wounds
need healing, and
all these wounds

are
self-inflicted

ask me
later

not now not now
later I may again believe
in something, in humanity
in purpose
and vision

today
but today

just short of hopeless for me

silence better
than these paltry words here