Fall Through Mirrors

i awoke that morning 
with a fantasy like any other
namely, a golden rod poking holes
in the clouds and i 
walking a mile of 
	dropped jaws &
		hanging clocks &
			lavender-drenched tides
to a castle in a tree that bore 
	no roots and
	waved an iron flag 
like a mechanical rib 
or a stale bird
	trembling on the
	lip of a volcano

every line is a world and 
	every number is a logic that falls 
	dead at the doors of our senses

there was a word for the face
that spoiled the dream, the line 
that dotted the i, the precision
with which i wept at the departure 
of my sun-drenched crown 
	
we must forget what is supposed to be
	in order to express what is

croaked the lizard at dawn, her
two fingers dancing on the 
	chessboard
sister of the parakeet, clone
of the man in a blue 
	velvet cape 
who juggled the 
	full moon in spheres
Magic Merlin atop a 
	threaded needle
the skeleton that pricked the cloud, 
messenger like a raindrop that 
cracked an eggshell and toppled the 
dream that blinded the kingdom 
	erected in sand

my eyes were coming back to me 
from the concentric visions of a 
	neon pillow
in the shape of sleepy music
	like a dappled moon or a 
	teacup full of empty plates

	(ignore analysis
	everything else is a paper trail)

if you want to tell a story
in a nonlinear fashion, you’ve 
got to begin with the most seductive
	imperfections

A Quick Note…

It is after writing poems like this one that I really wish I was a visual artist. Because none of the images I select to feature here–no matter how good it is–can possibly be an accurate reflection of the vision executed in this poem. I only hope to approximate it. Thank you, as always, for reading.

16 thoughts on “Fall Through Mirrors

  1. I like the way you experience the visual elements … the joy in the process is reflected in the words. A vision clarity so beautifully written is absolutely breathtaking. Super Miss TUL, but I bet you know it. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well, thank you very much. It is always my goal to make the vision as vibrant on the page as it is in my mind. And those visual elements are, as you say, joyful–nay, ecstatic–colorful, and alive. Almost like a Dalí painting. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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