BY ANNA BLOCK.
self-portraits mingled with self-landscapes
and vice versa
Mirrors
metastasising snowstorm, cutting wind
through which they shoved their way
cramping claws
with no goal but knowing address as the best laws
wet blackness beyond sweating windows
tea with no sugar, beds with no pillows
thick covers of fluffed darkness
rose tender razor sharpness
knock on the door the bell is off
I am on my knees your loyal dwarf
look at me I will reflect
your vulture gaze, your sticky fears
to you I plead:
dig in your stomach the well for my tears
give me a list of rules
which I will break from the end
let out all of your wolves
who will get me to the land
of no sins and no times
no goals and no frames
no means and no lies
no faults and no blames
they said they would never stop
licking off my gaping wounds
they said they would never stop
insane games in my mirror woods
but they did. they all left. and so did I.
we parted one day without saying good-bye
but the room is still in its place
my beloved cage for victims gaze.
