Hole

It's small

This hole of my throat

So how can it feel like this

Endless spiraling chasm

This unaccountable void

Like something huge

Wound up inside me

I yearn to fill it with words

String them together

Somehow, in some way

A knotted cord on which to cling

But nothing seems to stick

And I'm just holding empty threads

My father taught me

That to stop the rope unraveling

You seal the end with flame

But I guess, in a way

That's the problem

Because there's nothing inside me

And nothing for which I burn

Infinity Mirror

I move through the world

Like a funhouse with its

Thousand broken mirrors

Projections cast from the eyes

Of all these solipsistic ghosts

Each with their own painted image

To adorn my fleeting form

That ship in the fog heavy night

Somewhere in the fathomless

The sign of my passage

Strikes distant shores

Overturns small things 

Buried in the sand

Unknowing minds

Touched by my wake

Empty vessels that

Unwittingly carry

Some fractured sense of self

I yearn for this place

I've come to believe

Where the water is so still

And my image sits unbroken

In a crystallized momentum

All a million shining shards

That reflect the things

I believe myself to be

An imperfect glass

For an imperfect being

A face reflecting face

To have that be received

And create a light

That extends infinite between us

Camera

A camera is this thing

A box made of metal and plastic

Fitted with mirrors and lenses 

And a hole to consume the light 

It diligently reproduces 

What I tell it to see

The aperture controls the depth

I open the iris wide

In order to make it see less

A thin line of perfect clarity

While everything else

Becomes unimportant

My eyes are lenses and mirrors 

They see an imperfect 

And upside-down world

That my brain then sets right

My mind diligently telling me 

This is the way things should be

You see

I am the opposite of a camera

I have trouble remembering 

The days become a streaming blur

Though daylight fills my windows 

A darkness still persists

The dim creeps in from the edges

like a cancerous vignette

It consumes the light

It becomes hard to focus

And I get this sinking feeling

That I'm out of my depth

Like I'm living in a tunnel

With curved glass on either end

I have trouble looking 

Beyond my eyes

Everything seems so unimportant

The camera sees anything I tell it to

But I'm not really sure 

How to show you 

What this is

That I'm looking at

And I really would like you

To see