Terra Firma

This is an allegory; I
am not what I seem
and yet this means something.
Re-read, and you might realise
the abstraction behind my eyes -
a break like toothache
I shook to bake. Instant magic.

I talk good, you eat glass -
we do crosswords behind our backs:
each clue cryptic, a crypt.
This fable is a whole world
under the kitchen table,
curled like a cat or a cardigan
or a knife.

Life, distilled: a cold brew.
That’s what I offer you.


Across this mirror,
this terra firma,
I’ll throw my reflection
towards the light -
hoping that someday,
it might mean something
to me, too.

* * *

Hello, self. I've a story for you.
It ain't gonna be pretty, but it could be the truth, if you'll take it, if you'll make it your own.
Are you sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.