tagNon-Erotic PoetryWelcome to the Funhouse

Welcome to the Funhouse


In funhouse mirrors, reflected off the walls and ceiling,
we see ourselves as abstract shapes,
projected through so many prisms - broken yet fluid,
Marcel Duchamp's

When you write of what could be me, or a projection,
or the essence - sweet? tangy? bitter?
I only hope not bland or tasteless.

Water quenches thirst, and sates, but not this hunger
to touch, to know, to taste...

Your memory, I see it now, the foamy sea easily conjured:
the shape quite well, the longing less so
memory ebbs and flows, it coats, it sweeps... all that you've said.

you pick and choose what might be me

What could be you revealed, elusive glimpses, just a hint
it nearly is, and then, diffuse, it floats away... and disappears.

Reflections you would see of you -
I wish that I could see them clearly too
the mirror held just so... the shapes receding to eternity,
smaller and smaller, more abstract,
more you
than I
in fact.

Author's Note: A link to a reading of the poem can be accessed here: http://forum.literotica.com/showpost.php?p=73734400&postcount=178 ; the post also has a link to Marcel Duchamp's painting Nude Descending a Staircase.

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