The mirror clearly said msispilos
so I took it and smashed it repeatedly,
vehemently before shocked onlookers
until all I had left was a single splinter
of the handle in my hand.
And that – as they say – is that.
Chagall 2015
Tag Archive: ego
Too much clutter,
incessant yapping,
jabber.
Always I.
Tension at the temples,
my mind’s a muscle clenched,
a locked unbudging door,
no matter how hard,
I try.
Maybe, I
just go headless,
wear the world on my shoulders,
direct to the point,
forgo the face.
For-ego, the face.
Scour it clean,
get the gunk out;
it gets bigger as you go,
on the inside,
the less you know.
Emptying, empty, emptied.
Going, gone, gone.
I assert myself selfishly
to relinquish
any self-assertion.
Once bitten, twice removed.
I hit the trigger right,
and I spasms,
bleeds out over its edges,
a warm ooze, loosening shape,
seeping without form,
to fill no thing.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 