Hall of Mirrors

My ego hangs in a hall of mirrors
sometimes expanded
an overblown portrait
a blossoming obscenity
falling, shifting
becoming an occasional anorexic
a pathetic skeleton fading to a winter twig.

Little changes through summer persistence
light reflects from burnished surfaces
from every angle a different perspective
effervescent with possibility but words are
slow to rise...

A thousand selves are startled by the
crash of broken glass
is it the mirror or the reflection?
champagne flutes filled with ground glass
I sweep shards into a corner
lick blood from a toe
listen to the drumbeat of a distant fancy
as if hearing the revolution in Spring was lost
the dams burst and the land drowned in mirrored
fragments...

How long will this trial continue,
is the torment interminable?
how can redemption be true when the day is
confused with the pigment of expectation?
the cavalcade of illusion
a shadow pretending stability not truly felt
holds out a hand,
grasps a coil of mist
then departs as if normal
the kind of happening expected in today’s Australia
inflicted with glaucoma of spirit.

Dare to curse through the crack of a whip
while below the street pulses with its game
but the next move is mine as
I take lightly the mantle and throw it gently
into the air
nothing but the north wind and burning sun can
sweep the world
lick sand from my face
tongue in cheek rattling shackles until my
jaw aches
throbbing tooth chipped away by
sculptors to reveal a raw nerve
pulsating to the rhythm of the pause between breaths
speaking softly in a tongue not mine
another voice whispering
"this is the summer of your life" as
the sunflower opens its face to the sky
my face wrenched from the mirror to see
reflected a visage of corrugated iron
a veteran of disdain somewhere far from mercy
parted from innocence
compressed into a coiled spring
mouth agape
impatient to explode.