peel the surface, find the core

hide a rotten stinky toe!

cover a skin with more fine satin,

a mirror reflects only near perfection.

denounce a god, make an idol

call it what you will, you’re the boss

when the workers all line up to submit,

a skin they must obey when money tugs.

become the idol, a lover of shadows

when chasing light was never more fun

with the heavy shell begins to dawn,

fizzles away to night’s dark embrace.

a troubling messenger that slices at the tip,

retract that speech before the swindle is out

for the solid shape begins to form on air

whose unsettling mind is always wishy washy.

puff away – the good old days when reflection

begins to twist and turn

like a dancer who has learned to move with the

sparkles whose face is neither devil nor angel.

merges into one crisp facet: but the leggings are showing

when a storm brews like this morning’s coffee

sending a spin of tales from corners of the heart,

untouched by chains left on the outside.

it’s troubling, it’s damning, it’s a fine thing

when a mirror reflects back a smiling face

whose lips are pursed, mind made up that all

is well. the check book does not lie, does it?

then the mirror breaks, thereupon seven years of

bad luck coming to pass –

but a wave of a wand, whose appearance is startling

when magician and devil go back into the box.

they like to play hide and seek, finding treasures

from within, in exchange of what is left out –

those fine satin, all ruined with a splash of wine

it is one of those days. bad days.

never mind the stutter, never mind the worn out

reflection sparkling in many bits of shattered.

the inside is out, the spell has been demolished

with satin becoming chains –

that nourish this old stinky toe gone black

and so gigantic it is a wonder the surface never broke.