I stare into the mirror of perfection.
Only to discover
I have an imperfect stare.
Principled, I change mirrors.
Only to discover
I have an imperfect stare.
Outraged, I change mirrors.
More slowly, with scrutiny,
to discover an imperfect stare.
Well, who is that?
Who is that
that I’m looking at?
I only asked for conformation.
And now I get further inquiry.
What I was looking for
seemed like a simple request.
Instead I find myself asked,
who of you is asking (?)
My stare is broken
but more importantly
it is broken down.
Somewhere in that looking
I was inwardly asked,
who of you is asking (?)
Who of you,
dressed up in a stare
with the momentum
of presumptions and expectations
came to me,
face forward, presenting?
Well, I was not prepared for
an honest answer coming back!
And so you initially call it
of yourself,
“an imperfect stare”?
Expectations not verified
and that yielded a conclusion
called an imperfect stare?
Now obviously, this conversation
will have to include
many more inner voices.
The topic has shifted
from simple passage
to deeper self-inquiry.
It is safe to now say,
it is not the mirror in question.
It has to be
about the ritual intended.
So, cut to the chase.
There is no perfection,
just a mind-bound concept applied.
And the reward for its usage is?
Well, generally self-agreement,
accountability,
confirmation of expectations,
are the straight up, givens.
And whom of you
do those providing answers serve?
Wow, I open that door
and it is like
there is a bustle of me’s.
It is like lifting the cover
on a dark space within
and all of the cock roaches of me
rustle nervously for new positions
in response to the light of that action.
Well, this is not a mirror environment
any more of my choosing.
There is no more mirror inquiry here!
These are all my kept puppies of me!
All of them only have a life through me.
And I have reduced their lives or my life
to this range and limitation for living.
Living in the dark of me
bent on eternal survival but lowly so.
Can we talk, I mean communicate?
I get it metaphorically
but can truth be spoken.
Okay, no more mirror time.
And I’m not putting this cover back on.
We need a common language base
and more light on our living as me.
I’d like to transform the cock roaches
warmly into my kept puppies
and then grows us up all together
with some conscious bonding
and my life
without this superficial awareness
of mirrors of perfection as feedback,
at my beck and call.
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