a torch song, reverberating through hyperspace,
emanating from some elfin chanteuse...


On the other side of that looking glass
i'm a world unto myself
my days arrayed like avenues
my nights displayed on shelves
my meshes spun with tender precision
and cast like maps of hell
webs of plot and thought connect
my screaming insect cells.

On the other side of that looking glass
i entertain the beast
my refractions and reflections
are just vectors for its feast
my living will is shrivelled
just until i tug its leash
a revenge upon the doctors who
declared my wit diseased

i feel the future kiss the past
it comes on hard it comes on fast
i spy an angel made of trash
on the other side
of that looking glass

on the other side of that looking glass
my organs are attuned
to a subtle shady wavelength
a tone my mother knew
a flock of oscillations
persuade me to see blue
where leptons court and quarks cavort
without substance shape or hue

i'm feeling time turn into space
i shine with a shrill fragmented grace
your sacred writ all sounds so crass
on the other side
of that looking glass

on the other side of that looking glass
my chaos is complete
and all that's best of dark and bright
comingles in the street
my makeup mostly liquid
my flesh is pure deceit
i prepare a shifting shape to face
the figments i might meet

this game need never end my pet
where yes is no and no is yes
in crooked rooms where we are blessed
where souls unfold and thoughts undress

in vast arcades where angels crash
on the other side
of that looking glass... -Orji Walflauer