The problem with fixing people in your head
Is that they don’t want to stay fixed.
You can nail them down but they are not butterflies,
They always struggle free.
They shed their skin and gain another, or
They grow another limb, sprout another shoot.
Have you got their number, catalogued?
Don’t count on it, add this to your calculations:
Moving statues can’t be set in stone.
See instead a set of mirrors
Reflecting them reflecting you
Images placed on images of images, eternally.
Constantly off-balance, uncertain
Like a gyroscope, moving still.
It would be nice to get out of your head every so often.
Yet we mirror each other,
Distorting the reflections as ripples spread,
Always adding to what isn’t whole
As we fall into the deep.