Wave a hand in front of my face
and see magic happen…
That’s how I feel sometimes
Replace the face with a clean slate
or maybe not,
rather a scanned image of what’s truly within
so people will finally see
what should be seen,
and not what they want to

Somebody pointed it out to me one time,
and how true he is…
He said that one has never truly seen
one’s own face.

How ironic, right?
Yes, you see yourself in the mirror
but that’s only a reflection of yourself
And how you see your face,
would depend on the lighting,
and on the quality of the mirror…

I also have to ask, what defines a “good” mirror, anyway?

Photos of oneself are still somehow altered one way or another.
passing through lenses,
just never a firsthand account of seeing oneself
face to face—

I have seen my hands,
  each line, each groove and ridge of my fingerprints...
I have seen only the top view of my nose
…not my entire face really

So how ironic really that the blind
probably see their true selves,
see their faces much, much better
than those who can see with their eyes,
because they do so, through their hands…
touching,
         just feeling…

foggy mornings
never looked so good
reflected in gray eyes

Bukowski

your
seductive
stinking
honesty
makes my sanitized life
a lie

(poem dedicated to the late Charles Bukowski)

50 quid a night
Bleak walls
***** curtains
'Thieves abound' signs.
What do you expect?

Rumbling
deep and dark
Boeings vying
with Airbus
for air space

Around me
surrounded
held hostage by
a mix of humanity
that defies belief

Tats & shaven eyebrows
Over there a Rolex
Business people
thin on the ground
Holidaymakers

construction gangs
football teams
flight crew...
No pilots, mind
Families

And then there are
the lonesomes
like me
and people shouting
into their digital fruits

Only 50 quid a night
What do you expect?
What you've got...
A melting *** of humanity
In all its gore & gloriousness

I need a place
an attic in my head
to go there
sit in the rose
coloured light
the golden hour of
my mind and watch the
willow tree
growing quietly next to
the brick
in the place
I am who I always was a
growing chrysalis
a changeling constant stasis bug
movement beneath crystal
flickers underneath the
ice
but it will be quiet still
and the door will be locked
and I will stay there not
to hide from
myself
but to flee the potential
for crisis
if I don't cross swords with
the inner speed demon
find my zen
and go to the
supermarket.