Hurtling
through the
mirror maze
young-old
embryo.
Contorted,
misshapen,
falling back
one-eye.
Cry “Peace!”
Cyclops crazy
beady, heavy.
Where am I?
Who?
Brown.
Old contankerous
brazen brassy
witch-bitch
delirious.
Stop!
Simple smirky
purple prude.
I am the
glamorous sham.
Damn.
Staccato waltz,
loping trot,
forget-me-do.
Who?
Who is that spinning,
passing prisms
fancifully
fragmented
to pieces.
All of them
am I–
Please no.
Red.
Gaping maws
dirty paws
shiny smelly
ripened belly.
Yes, no, true.
My God
hell-o.
NANMYKEL.COM 
This poem is as timeless as you are. Don’t ever stop pitching those words over the railing. I’m so grateful to have you out there reading what I need to get off my chest. As I look back I realize that the fates must have arranged for me to move to Athens so I could meet you, and learn about Taco John’s. When you get to feeling lonely, please console yourself with the surety that somebody in Cincinnati loves you.
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Thank you, now I feel a whole lot better. I left out two lines, but I can’t say them here.
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