42 Mirrors
42 Mirrors
By Lucien Quincy Senna
Mirror, mirror
tell me all,
Who I am
Who I was,
painted seagreen with vanity
or socketed modesty.
Pride and pain
my old pretenders.
I am full of dead men's bones,
their advance over me.
I trashed and trotted
other people's causes,
statecraft of the most
sinister skull-duggery.
Mirror, mirror
see me now,
my strawberry leaves
for I am no longer twenty-four.
Pinking the raw edge of silk,
trusting it all.
Then that Ramshackle Empire
came clattering for me
a penal code
institutions for troubled women
"Pull your bellies between your knees!" said the nurse.
The hours pass upon the eastern turn
my faith anew while I was interred there,
until I somersaulted
out of the deep waters.
An ocean greyhound
who was simply considered
a whited sepulchre.
A mask for women over forty.
42 is a number a question a statement <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/42_(number)#The_Hitchhiker.27s_Guide_to_the_Galaxy">an answer</a> and now a poem, too.
How did you make that connection? I didn't think anyone would.Amazing. Insanity is very close to the Universal Truth is what I believe. But then, maybe I am down the rabbit hole with Alice! Thanks for the comment.