A big bully, hoping to change
a lifetime of regret.
Did things he never wanted to,
said things he never meant.
Every word would hurt.
Every action would bleed.
He may have tried to be kind,
but he'd still plant a bad seed.
That seed would grow and grow,
causing so much pain.
Useless, stupid, piece of crap,
here his name-calling would begin.
He did not understand what was wrong,
for used to it he was.
His jokes and insults, plain and true,
without a hint of remorse.
I approach with such
a careful tremor, always
I feel the finally foolish
once in a rented room on
27th street, the woman I loved
then, literally, after we
had made love on the large
bed sitting across from
a basin with two faucets, she
had to pee but was nervous,
embarrassed I suppose I
would watch her who had but
a moment ago been completely
open to me, naked, on
the same bed. Squatting, her
head reflected in the mirror,
I lean to you --
alien man,
leanest in prerequisites ---
I lean,
cured of vicissitudes,
lion, but unbeleaguered of lions,
allured to visit, to align ---
alone, no lion alone,
living, lying alone
pleading love,
the non-transitive balance,
the coupling substantive.
I lean:
little hill of dreams
to sleep within --
hydrant of hope
So this is the bottom of the pool I drowned in.
Yet still there are mirrors;
That bloated shape that's shifting's mine.
Put your feet on the floor
do not consider them
consider your knees, bend them
lift one foot off the floor place it somewhere
consider touching toes, touch them any old way
Sigh, bunches of sighs
consider your complete self in a long mirror
consider your left eye carefully
keep your eye on your left eye and slide
it all the way down the mirror.
With tears In her eyes she smiled in the mirror
You're a strong one, you fell but got up
Although right now
I don't know how much longer you can keep it up
And her smile dies down while she holds the blade to her wrist
rouses from a dream of fear. Suppressing
a moan, spine filled with fluids overnight,
yes, again, and ankles still in pain. Across
the flanks of her beloved she now crawls,
stumbles round the room to find the handle
of her life, or only the door, sliding her feet along.
A floor creaks with dry rot as she steps among
the objects that reshape her: bloomers, slips,
half-slips, girdles, bras, tights, stockings.
She feels, Braille-fingered, for the small room where
all who seek may find that men or women are
only men or women; here they see themselves
before any other's eyes, and by a harsh light.
Her eye looks deeply through her from the glass;
tells her that her sorrows are contemptible. So?
Shadows are now more dense than before
Or my eyes rest on them
Seek them out perhaps
My own shadow is a belt - bag - backpack
When I leave a room I pick it up
a gesture of politeness I never forget
Opposite walls mirrored
In the middle, you
A ghost army rises
One side
inside the other
A fanatic samelook
in their eye
A revolution
Ghosts have no ends
no measurements
If you're interested, the mirror
will show a flat, brilliant image
of our lustrous clutter, of much
white flesh draped in black, of
green bottles, brown bottles, other
mirrors, crystal, lanterns, jewels—
glass and gems we’ve arranged
as a barricade against dawn.
The woman behind the bar lets
her gaze wander until you express
your pleasure. She wears black
velvet trimmed in lace, a brooch
depended on a black ribbon,
a golden bracelet on her arm.
After you order, your gaze wanders
to the mirror behind her. There her
I have no beauty that is all my own,
No special loveliness carved out of me,
No glowing images wrought perfectly,
Splendour of flesh or delicacy of bone.
I am a pool, wherein you shall be shown
How wonderful and starlike you can be,
I am a mirror so that you may see
Yourself most intimately and alone.
When you lean to me and a dear, swift grace
Sways in my body, and my lips and eyes
Grow suddenly and exquisitely calm —
Oh tremble and look deep into my face
And see your own there, marvel and grow wise,
Touch me and cry, " How beautiful I am ! "
When at each door the ruffian winds
Have laid a dying man to groan,
And filled the air on winter nights
With cries of infants left alone;
And every thing that has a bed
Will sigh for others that have none:
On such a night, when bitter cold,
Young Beauty, full of love thoughts sweet,
Can redden in her looking-glass;
With but one gown on, in bare feet,
She from her own reflected charms
Can feel the joy of summer's heat.
When I can make my thoughts come forth
To walk like ladies up and down,
Each one puts on before the glass
Her most becoming hat and gown.
But oh, the shy and eager thoughts
That hide and will not get them dressed,
Why is it that they always seem
So much more lovely than the rest?