another long poem
I want to be every single person that is inside of my head fly out of the world’s trap to venus or jupiter. escape body recognizable country hop skip jump on the next night train open lane driving late syncopated turn on the track my bike in the back click clack til the ticking clocks are silent.
Set on mute by brains editing constant buzz.
I want to go somewhere I can hear everything. Where the landscape doesn’t blur, Monet, and people on the street and cafe lines and corners are new, not a living room mantlepiece, a metronome hypnotic. I want to go where I will be a multitude of mysteries,
house of mirrors reality.
Why? Because one glass, one flat slab reflecting, cannot embody the changes in me. Not just changes over time but inconsistencies, or, more accurately, details minute. Details of depth and color of tone and texture.
A house of mirrors is said to distort and twist and bend and scatter light to show us a clown of ourselves, a freaky alternate universe, our portrait contorted and wrong.
But we are not two-dimensional masses of matter. We are energy! Moving and changing, two places at once, two people at once.
Maybe our eyes deceive us, maybe the mirrors are aids like glasses, showing us what we cannot see.
For we are freaks, we are infinite alternate-universes sewed into one container.
Our souls and minds and skin ripple, wave, shrink, bounce light like basketball for angels. We are not a single thing, not static not stuck in time and space.
I am not a single thing not once now now not in a thousand tomorrows. So if I can’t be a million and one different people to one person, then I’ll have to be one person to a million different people.
It’s why I have to live like the air-force, cause I’m on so many planes one universe is not enough a human’s made of starlight stuff! Alternate realities, our bodies technicalities, complexity defines our being don’t rely on what you’re seeing and live the infinity that sits in your soul.
-Reia Brooks
