Tuesday, July 3, 2012

MIRROR TEMPERATURE, MIRROR HATE


I don't want to die
before I get to hell

one soul-detail comes off
in the last centimeter
of travel

it's an implement of voodoo –
the gnome always
leaving the mirror
at night, stalking the corridors

normal temperature in the
mirror is
quickly achieved

such temperature is
a nexus one can only reach
when the firecracker
behind the mirror
providing both light
and heat and texture gets lost
in height

otherwise forming a yellow fire on
the mirror's lake; like the
creature at the bottom of the lake
might be family of the dust mite
puking acid on a sandcastle

temporarily, opposing industrial forces
in the bolts that hold the mirror
to the wall have the thinnest content,
making the mirror great for ruin porn

what I sometimes see in
other people, on the other hand,
funnels my gallstones
forward

stopping again when a hand
is softly put upon them

I catch myself cleaning my nose
in the mirror with
my front 'feet'

am I being inverted?

bending and crawling
to convey the meaning of
this, likewise evidenced,
on this planet, by other
users of the inverse

applying this otherworldly space
until it's too widespread,
moves too fast, looks long
and desperate: a mechanical
cock on a realistic
stick figure running
up and down a train's
stick figure cock on
which stands an unrealistic
person

a sock

on second glance a hot maid
vacuuming the sock full of suss
on a flying saucer

her right arm
is too far out during her cleaning
so cool air
can't reach
her shoulder

her alien captors
weigh her vagina's head

had the head's inner wheel
been at rest
things on the ship
would've ceased to
make sense

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