Reflecting Reflections
Bambi; bootlegged black by a bag of bones
amidst fears of gloss and conscious,
while tin choirs rape with shaped wire,
newly born negatives named: Delicious.
Scenes of bone, home to ebony etchings,
sketched upon dry plateaus of flakes,
left to canker, Je m’appelle cheveux;
dark and thick like the yard of black we take.
All the mirrors dancers will sing,
“Among illusions of cosmeticized
orphans, under the fifth apple,
rotating a lush rouge, you’ll find
the open heart of arrogance and lies.”
Lewis Dalton
