Long Sable Torch
I hold a long sable torch,
Currently dead to energy,
And put a stare into the mirror
Concavely doming the bulb;
A photonic dart in waiting to misanthropist quietus.
I tilt it up, then down,
Watching many mes extend into view
And gathering in centre to
Slip; battling each other fall
Back out of existence.
I repeat.
The third time I lay my distorted mutations
Circled around the dart.
He is subdued, he cannot shoot.
But yet it
Shot, expanded
And leaked through the glass,
Paining my eyes blinder,
And my faces, supposed intaglios,
Fall away;
The dart's galimatias on their throne
poem by Mark Challenger
Added by Poetry Lover
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