Mirrors
phishgod
Posts: 133
Mirrors
I dreamed
that your
eyes were
as if
mirrors last
night, through
which I
saw myself
reflected in
your sight,
and when
seen as
I must
appear to
you, I
was not
a pretty
boy vision
to behold,
but almost
as if
a caricature
myself, or
others gone
before, and
viewed as
if lost
in circus
mirrors which
make me
fat, or
short, or
thin, but
not as
who or
what I
really am,
but cloudy
like surreal
dream where
nothing appears
as it
really seems
and all
must be
viewed warily
for ulterior
(or maybe
even perverse)
motives to
assault your
senses with
tricky illusions
and smoky
mirror mind-games
of deception—
or seduction,
but this
is not
who or
what I
really am
and never
have been,
and I
only feverishly
wish I
could move
behind the
mirrors in
real time,
that you
could know
me as
I am,
or feel
to be,
or feel
to be—
not as
I must
appear in
your mind’s
eye mirrors.
And I
must have
tossed and
turned my
dream for
when it
reappeared it
was I
who had
the mirrors
and saw
you reflected
therein, and
there, too,
was much
distortion of
the Truth
of you,
and of
your—Beauty—
self, too,
and little
perfections I
imagined showed
up as
if cracks
or flaws
on convex
surface image
of yourself,
and visions
imperfect were
recast in
perfect aura
like fog
descending in
the night,
and multi-
faceted edges
translucent in
my mind’s
mirror took
on simplistic
single shapes
serrated in
the half-
light, and
I realized
all was
not as
it appeared
when first
viewed through
murky mirrors
my heart.
And in
flash of
instant recognition
I must
have shifted
in my
sleep, and
the dream
reformed my
mind, and
our eyes
--un-mirrored—
met/and
we saw
each other/
as we
were/ and
I came
alive with
understanding,
for all
others around
us now
had mirrors
distorting our
visions, and
ourselves, and
who we
are, singularly,
or together,
and I
was angry
at all
the distortions
visible therein
which cast
us both
as different
from who
we are,
or want
to be,
and for
one brief
bright shining
instant I
sensed our
recognition of
ourselves un-
mirrored to
each other,
yet still
viewed in
mirrors of
others, and
all was
good, and
right, between
us, except
the other’s
view, and
it must
have been
at about
this instant
I awoke
as we,
laughing,
grabbed big
handfuls pebbles,
stones, rocks
and mortar
and sent
them high-
arced-sailing
at those
other’s mirrors,
sending fragments
shattering all
over the
floor my
dreams like
broken shards
of illusion
set free
to vanish
in the
night, and
as I
awoke we
both were
still laughing
to be
seen each
as we
are by
others, and
each other,
and by
our selves.
And O!,
how happy
and warm
I was
as I
got up
to take
a piss
and looked
at myself
buck naked
in the
full length
bathroom
mirror—I
nearly burst
out laughing!
March 8, 1994
@pth
I dreamed
that your
eyes were
as if
mirrors last
night, through
which I
saw myself
reflected in
your sight,
and when
seen as
I must
appear to
you, I
was not
a pretty
boy vision
to behold,
but almost
as if
a caricature
myself, or
others gone
before, and
viewed as
if lost
in circus
mirrors which
make me
fat, or
short, or
thin, but
not as
who or
what I
really am,
but cloudy
like surreal
dream where
nothing appears
as it
really seems
and all
must be
viewed warily
for ulterior
(or maybe
even perverse)
motives to
assault your
senses with
tricky illusions
and smoky
mirror mind-games
of deception—
or seduction,
but this
is not
who or
what I
really am
and never
have been,
and I
only feverishly
wish I
could move
behind the
mirrors in
real time,
that you
could know
me as
I am,
or feel
to be,
or feel
to be—
not as
I must
appear in
your mind’s
eye mirrors.
And I
must have
tossed and
turned my
dream for
when it
reappeared it
was I
who had
the mirrors
and saw
you reflected
therein, and
there, too,
was much
distortion of
the Truth
of you,
and of
your—Beauty—
self, too,
and little
perfections I
imagined showed
up as
if cracks
or flaws
on convex
surface image
of yourself,
and visions
imperfect were
recast in
perfect aura
like fog
descending in
the night,
and multi-
faceted edges
translucent in
my mind’s
mirror took
on simplistic
single shapes
serrated in
the half-
light, and
I realized
all was
not as
it appeared
when first
viewed through
murky mirrors
my heart.
And in
flash of
instant recognition
I must
have shifted
in my
sleep, and
the dream
reformed my
mind, and
our eyes
--un-mirrored—
met/and
we saw
each other/
as we
were/ and
I came
alive with
understanding,
for all
others around
us now
had mirrors
distorting our
visions, and
ourselves, and
who we
are, singularly,
or together,
and I
was angry
at all
the distortions
visible therein
which cast
us both
as different
from who
we are,
or want
to be,
and for
one brief
bright shining
instant I
sensed our
recognition of
ourselves un-
mirrored to
each other,
yet still
viewed in
mirrors of
others, and
all was
good, and
right, between
us, except
the other’s
view, and
it must
have been
at about
this instant
I awoke
as we,
laughing,
grabbed big
handfuls pebbles,
stones, rocks
and mortar
and sent
them high-
arced-sailing
at those
other’s mirrors,
sending fragments
shattering all
over the
floor my
dreams like
broken shards
of illusion
set free
to vanish
in the
night, and
as I
awoke we
both were
still laughing
to be
seen each
as we
are by
others, and
each other,
and by
our selves.
And O!,
how happy
and warm
I was
as I
got up
to take
a piss
and looked
at myself
buck naked
in the
full length
bathroom
mirror—I
nearly burst
out laughing!
March 8, 1994
@pth
rockon,
phishgod
phishgod
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
we gotta streaker
What made it black but the March wind dry,
And the tear of the widow that fell on it last?
It shall redden the hills when June is nigh.
The silk of the Kine shall rest at last;
What drove her forth but the dragon-fly?
In the golden vale she shall feed full fast,
With her mild gold horn and her slow, dark eye.
The wounded wood-dove lies dead at last!
The pine long bleeding, it shall not die!
This song is secret. Mine ear it passed
In a wind o'er the plains at Athenry.
I have fun doing readings of this piece.
Haven't streaked a reading (yet), though Yellow.
Yes, Fins--a similar theme to the De Vere, in fewer words,
and more crafted than spun, which is more my method
than the formalists would prefer, I am sure. See today's post
for another view (it's long, but fun, and C. says its way dense) on formalism & the critics.
Some day I may post an essay I had published
on style & form, darkrose, and yes, I am
sure the line breaks make things difficult
for some, and take some getting used to. There is reason to my madness after Kerouac, Ginsberg & McClure & others,
which essentially is to read the thing in a single breath
(as in performance, for example), where the form draws the eye down the page to take in the whole. Of course
the spacing and punctuation do give little pauses
for skinny breaths in readings, and the postings lose something in HTML since they are not centered on the page (nor do they hold the form & line breaks I have given them sometimes in HTML) per my method. Realize most of mine are written straight through in a single sitting (first thought/best thought & written as intended to be read--in single breath mode) & without revision (I do do minor edits on punctuation, spelling, factual erors, and even occasionally a word change or a line or two, but basically what one sees is just as written) , so the style is a device for keeping some pattern of meter and music going. If read aloud and fast--fast--fast, as written & intended, then the style becomes more transparent and things hopefully flow straight through.
Thanks for your comments.
phishgod