Inside The Mirrored Land
On a cell day, you can see the leaves
piled on the grass below
and wonder where went Chong.
This is our prison
this is our song
onward to the elusive end
a sparrow's cry amidst the plane's rumble.
Stevens said semblance was all a fiction
therefore belief must come in fantasy
surreal combustion of inner timber
and the labyrinth shock a real dinner.
It's okay to surmise
when the outer circumference describes
an alien landscape:
roving tentacles and shrill cats
vacant sunlight and flapping tendrils.
It's a smoldering ruin
color-blind and colorful the leaf-laden branches
suspend and receive the deceiving motions.
This is our life
This is our boneyard
in a shifting portal, luminous shadows play.
Page 34 (Black Book: Light Heart)
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