The
word
It seems to me
that I grow my word
like my joys
in the dirty & the muddy
which everyone tramples
upon.
Each word grows
gets jammed on
gets enclosed to
feet and dirt
imperceptible to you
making pain
or is the word joy?
Words are like that
sometimes this.
The
Mirror
I look at it many times, day
and night too,
after a shower, to have a
shave, to comb,
brush, apply aftershave,
have some powder...
sometimes simply to look,
twisting muscles
turn the lips to odd shapes,
catch yourself
doing strange things to your
face
like you show a ghost to the
child
showing your teeth to your
dentist
sometimes wishing to see a
different face
Keep it in all positions to
see your back
And all that you can't see..
Alone you talk to it..
But, there comes a stage
when
you don't talk- but it talks
to you
And you talk in reply..
like you talked to your
dolls as a child..
The child outgrows the dolls
But you don't..
Come to think of it, really
do they?
And really don't you?
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