Gregory Wm. Gunn

The Looking Glass

In the silvered glass a whole other universe is revealed: the vast oceans, galaxies, gods, minor imperfections, the razor’s edge slight injuries to the face.

We hold our gaze and it sustains us, look long for confirmation of accomplishments and silent failures.

The mirror’s curvature refracts/reflects; gives us reverse imageries.

Yeses become noes, Omegas are Alphas, perspectives oppose each other.

Schopenhauer and Nietzsche appear as optimists. Weapon-wielding seers laugh and shrug everything off.

We become blurred simulacra, focused in the polished glass. Responses arrive, queries multiply abundantly.

The wealth of all things ruminate upon reflection, yet the wordsmith is rarely observed in all of this.

The Tongue Presents

A type of Ginsbergian howl, unknown speech strangely raging --- the tongue presents sounds we fail to decipher.

What wrathful deities, what white-noise enthusiasm, what level of distortion in this warped space provided us the go ahead?

Oral labyrinth we still twist through yet find it necessary to locate the centre where Minotaur and Babel unify to form singular quality.

Engineers of our pain while inclement weather erodes the tower. We deny an absent Helios, then windup worshipping wind and rain.

We believe at this point in time we must leave and still this evening we gaze star-ward, on one more seeing night we take flight planing the sky in search of the Sun.

Vacuumed silence falls; interprets what warped space nor wrathful deities can never appease.