I went down to the shop of horrors.
Crazy mirrors showed me everything.
Spent all my tickets on reflections -
Nothing scarier than what I saw that day.
Gathering all these poor Mis-Shapens,
I stuffed them into a grocery bag.
Tangled whispers pleading, muttering -
I take them so they cannot follow.
Along the way more mirrors leered.
I wonder how much more can fit.
I cannot leave this lot behind,
Nor can I bring myself to look.
Clouds are gathering in my chest,
Whirlpools circle round my gut.
So heavy, so hard to keep this ol bag closed.
I'm almost ready for the Storm -
- But not quite yet . . .
- ▼ 2009 (18)