I have been watching myself crawl around these corners as of late, from the mirrors encircling this room that I lay upon
I quite enjoy the serenity of observing oneself from within the landscape of ones own charm
It’s like a close encounter with another, a feature that has never quite grown old and continues to grow
Comfort like a curve that has yet to be populated with the distinction of hair
These mirrors are not cracked at all, nor do I plan to crack them
Perhaps I grow old and shed my find cloak like the snake that glows
But I shall not tire of watching the curves of my eyebrows race their way south
Into the depths of my ear lobes and further towards my nose
I shall not grow weary of the assembly gathered upon my chest
Some of them curly, lots of them old crow
I don’t believe in alterations of the plastic kind
Those which require surgeons to enhance what doesn’t seem to exist
This is a modern folly, of which I am not victim
Perhaps it would be better I didn’t voice my opinion
I as my master do conquer what I’m made of
I listen to its lurches, I succumb to its will
I help it move forward and feed it more fuel
Today I have explored from without and within