Saturday, December 24, 2011

looking

i look at my image, but only recognize war in scraps of paper floating above my half-opened books. an inward raw terror unmasking, yet too timid and delicate to join the outside world. dragging longing and loneliness in this wilderness that is my eyes. is there a moral dimension to looking, inspecting self as other? the soul is boundless and empty lying underneath a pair of boots. lipstick stains part of this fictional fluidity i call the self. unromantic disguises in four lettered words. i look.

2 comments:

  1. why not...it's not always vanity.. :)
    (blogwalking)

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