I looked at myself through an oracle’s mirror;
At the person I was, have become and one day could be…

I saw a little seraph girl with a crooked halo
Resting on her devil horns.
Her tired heart and brave mind
Were curious yet guarded.

That day I saw myself  
With every scar
Every fallen tear
Every smile
And every milestone.
I peaked through my wings
And saw the devil They never wanted
But the angel for whom I still fought for
On the darkest nights
And loved on the brightest mornings.

I have become a paragon of imperfections and flaws.
Transformed into a tesselation
Of loosely sutured calamity weaving
Through the complexities of my benevolence.

And yet…

Beyond myself,
I saw the world in its blackened beauty
Reflected so wondrously
In shades of good and evil
And wrong and right
And wrapped ever so tightly in adventure.

My golden apple waiting just outside of Eden’s gates.

Shall I take it?
And be locked out of my garden forever?

The cherubs will be forlorn,
And the demons may even shed a tear,
And the hell whose flames I’ve kept so tamed
May reach out and dance across the garth.

When my tired frame relaxed outside in a sedentary mood
Caught in the heat of a lazy Summer Saturday afternoon
I thought I might want to go inside soon
But then upon my limb I spied a thief
A mosquito planning to plunder blood with suicidal belief
What hasty nerve, I thought, for a thing so small
To have so quickly chosen its own downfall
But then I, gazing down upon the greedy creature, felt a kindred spirit
It must be weighed down by all the things it could not do,
and so I could do nothing but refuse to **** it
I stared as his belly filled with something that was mine
and watched him buzz away with the summer breeze intertwined
The next time it tried on someone else,
I hoped that poor sod would be easily dispatched
And finally fulfill that itch it and I had to scratch

I did not engineer

Nor attempt to construct

The human soul

No

Not I



The mere idea seemed frivolous

Damnably gelatinous and

Above all else

Impossible to comprehend

How silly it might turn out

Indeed I thought this



I did attempt however

To make a spicy jam

One evening at the

End of Winter I believe

Lovely time

When this,

What I consider the beginning of a debacle,

Began



I threw together

Bits, and things, and twigs,

And professional spices,

And Illicit words, and

Brown sugar,

And old tea,

And harmless fun

And Puppy Dog Tails,

And I’m allergic to snails,

And something that I called Steve



It could have been Tom

But it looked like a Steve to me

Despite its arguments that it was

A Barbra through and through



I stirred and fiddled and sang

To this black and thin glop

I indeed attempted to call

A spiced jam concoction

That was tap-dancing in circles

On my stovetop without permission



When, no I know, the usual happened

I became bored

Yes

Yes Indeed I did

Bored

Thoroughly

Bored

Bored

Bored



Where was I?

Oh yes.

Bored



Bored of this

Damnable,

Jammable,

Fred Astaire

Not spicy jam



So I left what would become

The self-engineering diluent,

Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing

That would become the human soul

On the back burner  

While I cooked some pasta instead



I prefer pasta

It is delicious

Not like that mistake of mine

It continued to be a mistake of mine

It was not pasta,

It was not spiced jam,

And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin

Whoops



For a year

I believe

It could have been a week

A very long and tiring week

Or seven years

When I heard the back burning

Singing back to me

About apples with a crisp bite

About fireworks that misfired

About drug needles used to sew together sanity

Was this too spicy?



With its two voices of

Hospital dust

And

Captive applause



Oh my,

This couldn't possibly

Taste good

I believe whatever this has

Festered into without

Adult supervision,

I believe it might be beginning to turn

Like milk and wine



I bottled it in a wooden bottle

And left it on the stoop of an orphanage

To find a good home

I wonder if this not spiced jam

Has found a good home

Last I heard

They all went from it to They

And attended Engineering School.

I float out of mind, or the visages of time
Born from the gusts of a star’s mighty stillness
I fly to a sphere of lovers and mimes
Still, no one can bear to notice my dress

Dear- she is silent, yet stands so close
The eyes pierce my body, smiling fro
The human gaze is one of repose
Is there something the cosmos did not show?

I'm an actor! The Guile! Kaleidoscopic motion!
In the midst of monotony, the lumbering locomotives
I laugh on stained tiles, I'm a star of devotion!
Know me, fools! My essence is votive!

O vile and veiled stage, which I perform under!
Is my passion redundant, and my words so tasteless?
This is my dream, that fate struck asunder
I can't feed myself at my worst or my best

I think I will go back to star Sirius' caress.

Years- the passing of time
Insurmountable to my looping eye
Not so much as a dent in their grime
The vice of the purpose, unhinged by a sigh

What can one choose to bear
When ******* the clasp of cosmic hands
When all one sees are fleeting stares
And their last teacher is time’s command

Not a single ear hears
Not a single voice cheers
No hands, free to jeer
For I am not here

The joke is as old as the star that birthed me
As careless as a rampant sea