A Beast
When I gaze into my mirrored eyes, my mind, my soul,
What I find disturbs my unrefined essence,
The seat of my being's idiosyncratic humanity.
Were I to report to you that it doesn't terrify me,
I'd be a liar of the most irresponsible kind,
Assuming that truth is a moral absolute, an ethical given.
I confess that whatever dynamic I'm observing,
As I peer into the miasmic complexity of my dazed irises,
Is beyond my feeble capacity for insight.
In fact, I haven't even a quark of a visionary recognition
As to what I could possibly be registering,
Let alone why it's been left to my imagination
To figure out what's astir within those nebulae,
When, aiming my penpoint at blue-ruled notebook paper,
I probe deep beneath my eyes, my mind, my soul,
Hoping to put to rest that vexing existential question
Of my evanescent essence,
Arrest the specter of a beast gazing back at me.
10/29/08 - (2)
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