.
(20 minute poetry)

What gives that we lack when we fall through the crack and I drop through the mirror again?

It must be he that I see stood back from the crack, the mirror just laughs or could that be me, each imperfection is magnified and the reflection dare I say it is sanctified or should that be mortified?

So I pick at it
kick at it
I am
altogether sick of it.

And if I squint at it or
add a tint or a hint of a smile to it,
It mocks me and
takes the ****'

It's level one,
out with the toe hold
and put a beveled edge
on it,
time to be bold.

Secret committees to squander,
the crack in which through falling I wander.
It doesn't make sense to me either
neither to you I suspect,
But
that's what gives when we
lack turn our back on the pack and introduce a joker to the deck.

So I pick at it
kick at it
I am
altogether sick of it.
And if I squint at it or
add a tint or a hint of a smile to it,
It mocks me and
takes the ****'
It's level one,
out with the toe hold
and put a beveled edge
on it,
time to be bold.
Secret committees to squander,
the crack in which through falling I wander.
It doesn't make sense to me either
neither to you I suspect,
But
that's what gives when we
lack turn our back on the pack and introduce a joker to the deck.