if beauty is truth

today, of all days, a lizard, god's mistake. the cockroach, stamped on (and out) as i bent my back in fury, has, after a week, slowly, deliberately been gnawed at by a thousand ants. so much for camaraderie in the animal kingdom. still, humans are not much better.what remains: a wing (without a prayer)...

i return, clothes still tossed aimlessly everywhere, discarded objects. still miraculously retaining the shape of the human. half-alive. the place stinks. a bowl of milk has been left to rot.. blotched, congealed, decayed, maps of continents formed on its surface. the blinds broken, as if undecided to stay up or fall down, distort the light. what kind of place is this? dust and cobwebs have accumulated, become denser. close the door on it. god knows what grows on its own...

the lizard, understanding the presence of another being, dashed behind the clock. you cannot hide behind time!imagine it's heart beating, alarmed, as if on the First Day, the strangeness of it all, the pulse of its ancient rhythms quickening at the thought of death for the first time. or was it death?

behind the mirror, that old rusting mirror, freckled with splashes of brown at its edges. safety in the darkness, like a child. slowly breathe and occupy your mind. stem the chaos. nimble-footed, delicate, rays of red fire illumined on your skin. and yet, like a jilted lover, thinks: such a grotesque form am i!