Κυριακή, 11 Μαρτίου 2018

Mirror portrait

My mirror is merciful. It flatters my senses with a kind of visual imbalance. My body is prolonged till escaping  my feverish  gaze ,a sylphlike figure following the light of  the candle  which  stumbles at the  outrageous angles of the room. In front of my mirror I can appear windy and feathery, endowed with all the properties of air. The body that I see was once mine, totally mine, without guilt. I can shift in the dark constantly carrying sounds and smells from all the hidden corners of the horizon and hew the  most stainless shapes on the most precipitous cliffs and copper blonde  deserts skillfully.
  My mirror is poisonous. It  smothers  the silence along with the incursion of fear. It gives voice to the  monological  confrontations between my double self, this image of image that I ignore. Only fleeting murmurs in a desperate move to invoke an absence. Sometimes ,while looking at me in the mirror ,within  a distance of discretion, I can suspect  my barriers, though I'm riddled like a forest fairy born aloft ,and I start  talking  to it ignoring its  provocative stillness.




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