The Man on the Mirror


Transfixation is a pristine mirror.
The glass painted on one side and self reflected on the other

I’m sitting in the front seat of a bus, looking
At the rear view mirror. I know what is chasing me.
The weeds that grow taller than the cultivars.
The predators that run faster than the prey.

You need make a man of yourself
Assembling together course contents
And spelling learning outcomes.
The next generation needs to be molded
A house of bricks, a sapling with fertilizer.

And I look through the hourglass. The little orifice
Keeps getting wider every day, the slope getting steeper.
And I’m trying to make a little fairy tale work.
A little poetic justice, ejected from karma’s womb.

I’m tone deaf, I can’t hear cries of “loser”
Only an anchor that pulls me down, chained around my waist.
I’m sinking in my own dismay.

Perhaps all I’m is an experiment to man
A plan for god and a cart for fate.
I’m a slave of one or the other. Smiles are hard to surface
Laughs are quieter around the Adam’s apple
Need to succeed is the noose around my neck.

And a little wooden chair holds me still.
Four legs and a flat piece of wood

I call my dreams.

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