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Sunday, November 4, 2012

the intricate anatomy. of and -uselessness of Stargazing

I meet myself in the mirror several times a day

Each for the first time, I think
And my eyes discover themselves
Deities with existentialist questions
As if the Sun felt its own fingers
For the first time
And was born, then

Re-introduced to the temple of my mushy architecture
The odd extremities and mad mechanics
Of my alien anatomy
And its curiously quivering, casual flaps
I become the Universe, and see myself
(This terrified, arrogant insect)
And my soul dissolves into a question
Feels supernaturally silly in my body
As if the wind were a puppeteer

In the spectral peripherals of my vision
I am haunted by a million past instances of such interviews
And a trillion packages of future ones
In which I have gazed into the endless neptunes of my eyes
Searching for something that is probably nothing
Having icy intercourse with the idea of myself
Which spurns endless embryos of thoughts
And so the countless cadavers of my souls, stacking
On top of one another
And I’ve found I define myself
By the last time I’ve chanced
Upon my reflection

These phantoms of myself
We’re almost too terrified to acknowledge one another
Meanwhile I scorn my youthful skeleton
Hiss at my budding sex spots or unripe eyes
Sigh at the sags in my somber skin
Urge the waxing of my youth
Stare as it ebbs away
Wish to escape into my pupils
Or just switch places with my reflections

Then all at once we’ll disappear
Ours hours finally spent
To realize in a gasp
That my life was the snap of a flame
An organic moment, fleeing itself
And all that remains now
Are the ghosts

Of my reflections


Boyd said...

I love how this starts out, and how it develops the idea of examining your reflection for the first time.

I've lost a lot of blood.