I step into the cubicle,
innocent and unsuspecting
and see my boyish self:
the mirrored walls reflecting,
and so on...
I pose and posture, playing with the novelty,
a chorus line of unison regiments and ranks:
identical “me”s moving together
in synchronized, choreographed action and gesture,
less focused on my appearance than
upon the fascinating phenomenon,
I step out of my pants,
nervous and self-conscious,
and see the clerk kneeling at my feet,
threading arms and tape around my waist,
breath hot on my skin,
hands running up between my legs,
groping, feeling, fondling, probing...
my feet rooted immovably,
mind and body paralyzed,
mirrors multiplying my image,
going on and on without end,
continuing into infinity,
burning the sight and sensation into memory,
preserved unchangeably, captured and frozen,
beneath the silvered walls of glass.
26 – 07 - 13
Edited by traveler (07/26/13 04:39 PM)
Edit Reason: wrong word
"That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. . . What will your verse be?" Robin Williams as John Keating in "Dead Poets Society"