Through the Looking Glass

I am warm with my past, present, and future;

But,

I shiver

Like the arms of the butcher;

I am a drunken fool,

Intoxicated by this pool,

This pool of change,

This pool of pain,

This pool that seeps through

That muddy terrain;

I see,

I hear

It gushing by,

And yet it is a pool

Still as our night sky;

I often look through this obfuscation

That coalesces itself

With consternation;

It pulls me in

With whirlwinds,

It cuts through my flesh

With blades that sin;

And yet it is a pool,

Silent

As our bygone kin;

I drop my head yet again

Onto that very same pillowcase,

That in my mind

Is threaded with lace,

And I sleep;

Wishing,

Wishing

That I could leap;

Leap through the forests that crowd my brain

Until I am above them,

Until I catch that running train;

That mocks me every so often

In my dreams

That whisper

Into these drains attached to my head;

I fall into the pearly waters,

Glistening,

Glaring,

It bares its teeth,

Dry as a heath;

And yet it is a pool,

Crowned

By a blistered wreath

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