Mirrorball

What Are Those Distorted Smears Of Colour In The Mirror Ball? Are They People? Look CloserYesThey Are PeopleThey Are UsAnd There Am I, ASmall Pink Smudge, An Arched Eyebrow ?Or Perhaps Not: Retinal Overload, ATrick Of The LightHow Do People Make Sense Of Themselves, And What Do Those  Splintered Shafts Of Varicoloured Liquidity Have To Tell Us About The Skins They Are Bouncing Off? Who KnowsThe Speaker Of These Lines Is Himself Caught Up In The Glare, Garrulous In Spite Of The DinMirrorball Collects Poems From To .?there?s ANaked Honesty That Never Becomes Selfabsorbed ?confessional? PoetryICan?t Think Of Any Other Poet Now Who Has Pulled This Off With Such Force And Immediacy, And Also, Not Forgetting, ANice Wit And Selfmockery For All Our FoolishnessesThe Poems Put The Reader On The Spot, Ask The Questions, But In No Direct Clunky Way ?All The Poems Near Conversations But More Than That.? ?lee Harwood, From ALetter
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