Mirrors and Glass

The ground is shattering under my knees,

mirrors cracking as my skull shrills.

Glass breaking, pictures of a child I once knew,

who once grew into my footsteps.

That poor, beautiful fool.

Dusty curtains brush against the shards of glass

now ripping away at a corset

that bound me with fear of wrinkles and solid food.

Poor baby, who said to be straight?

There are no trees, only mirrors.

No roads, only glass.

No people, only shards now covered in blood.

Come to me, and be well.

You do not need the roots of trees

if your body can produce stem cells

that equate to infinity and super power.

You do not need religion if you can define

your own set of rules with the pages printed

in a magazine of Ten Commandments.

Child, who said you were strange?

I understand now where I am –

it only took me a moment to find myself.

And moments are short and long,

just as my path is wide and narrow.

Pet, you are in your proper place;

you are where you were born to be.

Doesn’t the American flag look simply

precious as it hangs from your back

like the wings of an Eagle?

Don’t hang your head low; you are proud.

Liberty is the freedom of staring at your own reflection

as it stares at you from every angle.

You cannot avoid yourself.

Mirrored screens produce images of people,

but they are not real people;

they are products of our own creation.

Poor baby, don’t be sad.

You control the ground with your thoughts.

You control the shaking and the quaking

just as you control the images projected

on the screens and in the stars.

I am not only with you, but I am you,

and though we are not one character,

we must build an empire of steel in a world of glass.


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