The circle of life
Like a transparent sheet of fiche
Flat and forever existing
In the confined cage
Of my dusty mind-
A place that records every
Laugh, smile, foul, hurt
On clear crystal
Etched and printed are these thoughts
Like reels of film,
But see-through-vision
There is no gate in this prison
No fence, barbed and bleeding
To shelter and defend these thoughts.
It is a snow globe with violent access
To its thin printed pages of images.
A photo album of the inside
Of my flesh, unbound and unlocked.
How many pages you say?
The shots are snapped everlasting
Click, shoot, capture
That tear of the heart
That undoing of my smile
Happiness kangaroo-jumping
High high high- look to my microfiche mirror
For the imitation icicles.
absolutely LOVE this one.
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