(Who am us, anyway?)
The mirrors of our words
reflect only each other
We search for the meanings
of things in the names
that we call them,
in the names of the things
that we call to
in our sleep.
All we reflect on is our selves.
All we reflect is on our selves
like stains on a sheet.
We pull words from a pool
like pebbles to hold in our hands
for a time and toss back.
We pile each other on with
We bury each other
in the masks
We stand before ourselves, reflecting
holes of what we can say about
the whole of who we are not.
In a world of mirrors
these reflections are all that we have;
this reflex is all that we own.
we stare at our own open mouths
and hear screams.
We hear sudden intakes of breath.
We hear gaping grunts of exertion,
sudden exhalations from chests
hammered by invisible fists,
or the slow outlet of air
that signs a state of awe.
And sometimes our lips are sewn shut.
And sometimes our throats are torn out.
And sometimes our vocal chords are rip-
chords that we can or will not pull.
And sometimes our teeth are clenched and
the breath hisses through them like piss on a fire.
And sometimes our nostrils flare and
the white-eyed starer stares back.
And sometimes these
holes in our faces
are just that.
And sometimes we’re all
starving reflections of each other
opening our mouths and saying,