I
wonder what Russell Edson saw when he looked in the mirror each
morning. Perhaps a field of long cracked grass that had to be shaven off
or hair in the form of a sleeping mole that needed a trim or two eyes
that could see in reverse, could see as as far as the mica glitter of stars . . .
ANTIMATTER
On
the other side of a mirror there's an inverse world, where the insane
go sane; where bones climb out of the earth and recede to the first
slime of love.
And in the evening the sun is just rising.
Lovers cry because they are a day younger, and soon childhood robs them of their pleasure.
In such a world there is much sadness which, of course, is joy . . .
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