occasionally i catch myself looking in the mirror
as if in askance
with something to say
but i find there is nothing -- just a strange face
the moment collapses around itself
almost like a soufflé
when i walk away i wonder if all that
is really true
i always have something moving around
turning and planning
but why the pauses and the sudden looks
not even the scribbling of notes
it it like going to the ledge to take a picture
and having no film in the camera
but doing this on purpose
i promise to be better to myself
rather than to just think i should be thinking art
or murdering delightful ideas by being blank
when i choose to look
