Echopraxia
I can see myself
Clearly in the reflection
Of my mirror,
A fluid glass pane.
I am a ripple,
A skipping stone
Dropped in the depths
Of the parallel world
That seems to exist
On the other side.
I am dripped in the water,
Drying out in the sodium deposits—
Dehydrated and drowning
Simultaneously.
I plunge deeper still,
Unable to adjust
The shifting sands
Spiraling down, around me.
They rub away at
My pearl lined pupils.
The pressure increases
The further I go.
My lungs,
Like oxygen balloons,
Blow up with pocketing air,
Packed and condense,
Popping before I surface.
They collapse as
Elastic shrapnel
Buzzing as I breathe.
My chest fills with blood
While I slowly sink, sink, sink.
The salt stains
The leaking aqueducts
That stream from the sea of myself
Or who I think I am.
In thick, murky algae water,
Do I really have control
Of that which I see?
Do I really?
I stretch outward,
My muscles twitch
As my arms reach
To grasp at the current
That pushes me,
That tosses me,
Dizzied and disoriented,
Plummeting into nowhere,
Down the whirlpool
Which contorts my reflexes.
Through the crystal skin,
The diamond crusted shimmer,
A spectrum of liquid clarity
Radiates
And pours through the space
That separates my fingers.
What do I find in this,
But an echo of myself
Trickling backwards
To the source?
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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