how many years has it been
since I fell in love with my own reflection
if love was cold and flat as glass?
I’ve spent my life staring into mirrors
watching the years swim towards me
like dark & slippery shapes
that hover and expand under thin ice
and even when there is no mirror i feel my eyes on me
when talking on the phone, in the shower,
driving a car or doing dishes,
i watch myself from the corner, up above and to the right
an out-of-body awareness of what I look like now as I type this
my ghostly gargoyle, my phantom twin, my consciousness
disinterested and vaguely hostile
an unblinking self-portrait
framed in gilt.
but what if i skipped the shower, got behind the wheel, and drove north
& norther, to where pine trees fur their feet
and rocks jut like liberated vertebrae
and the river slides and sings?
i could drop my clothes and sink under the surface
break the skin and fuse with substance
i could forget myself. i could lose my corners
then pull up out onto a smooth chunk of hot granite
and lay there, like an egg cracked in the fire,
let the dirt work its way into my crannies
until hair is dreadlocked, skin is brown as dirt, hard as rock and as heavy
my hard-boiled thoughts would finally stay in place
if thoughts were hot as blood, solid as stone and as heavy
maybe then i would know how I feel.
How are you enjoying your summer?