Author: Andrew H. Oerke

When you abandon my rectangular framework
I drown in pure uninhabited light.
You rub me out but you will bring me back,
for what kind of man is he who does not
keep company with his own reflection?

Since you think your appearance instead of your
reality is you, I nab what you were
every time you make me look different.
Without me, you wouldn’t know who you are,
since once you think you’re the you you see,
you’re never your old self again; you’re me.

Since you think your reflection is who you are,
I am obviously more real than you are.
I have fooled you into thinking you’re me,
but I’m the ghost inside of your machine
and I secretly plot the moves you make
as I swing you around to the crack of my whip.

You think you have me locked in a glass cage,
but I travel with you wherever you go.
When you’re not looking, I beam up in your brain
to sort the impressions you have in mind
and make the spot choices you think are blind.
It’s a good thing you can’t hear what I’ve said
or you would go away and leave me dead.