Song for Solace

Here is my mirror. The page does not reflect what is.
It is controlled and contains what ought to be believed.
Unenchanted mirrors too distort and distract but all
In their oracle all is garnered, grotesque.
Sight demands sacrifice so I stare only at this sea.
I close my eyes to those other truths and here-
Rolling and robust- here I anchor, here I moor.

Here, my mask. See the papyrus feathers flay.
Splay your fingers across the supine page and note,
The dazzling disguise! The delicious deformity.
This carnival only invited my eyes, the rest
Flowers against forgotten walls. But my eyes dance.
The pretty page, my word-frocks flush and flutter
As on this floor I dance with partners a-plenty.
Here I jig. Here I reel.

Here is my home. Walls are needed; they mottle
Cold but they fall and rot and crumble. Give me not
Boundary or structure ephemeral. Give me gardens,
Give me palaces, give me secret corners and sunny slopes.
Here, everything is fertile. In my paper glade,
The sentences are life. Here is my only beauty.
Here is the enviable aesthetic, the current curve.
Here I bask. Here I bathe.