The Mirror Skin

The mirror skin
quivered antagonically
when I touched it on.
Like there was not a way
for the image to breathe.

I broke into the mirror
with this crooked body.
Caterpillar of a non-butterfly
or echo of a late evolution.
Sour cream of the origines.

Under the mirror's skin
all was a primal storm
and the pores sweated
shadows of a lost paradise.
Earthquakes of the flesh.

I took myself inside the mirror
in a long perplex journey
of yellow and crystal-clear white.
My eyes in the mirror looked like
metal flairs of a storm.

Me and the mirror produced beings
as strange as flying-nothings and
drowned red-fishes...
We set the empty scenary on fire.


PAR