• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 08


Secretly I become
some being who has dwelt,
suspended, in other worlds
invoked by conjuring—all
the images inscribed in
my eyes, rising like revelations,
from inside a mysterious

abyss.  Must we act as if
we control destiny?—continuously,
we fail.  And so we impose
humanity on other animals—
cats, for instance—give them our
bodies, steal their personas,
mimic their acts.  Humans

think they are unique.  But
they overlap with all
living things, even those
of us who are clearly far
superior—their boundaries
are always breaching
ours, making up stories
that only prove our edges
are, in the end, impenetrable



to fantasies.  The photo can
not be compared to what it
may or may not represent--
the camera’s tricks are not
something that can be
measured in truths.  Illusion,
really, all of it.  It’s a wonder
we can manage to get through
each day without disappearing

inside the mirror.