Bekah Steimel is a poet aspiring to be a better poet.
One person, one hundred perceptions
or maybe I’m one hundred people
casting a single shadow
only glimpsing my own transparency
in a puddle of black ink
When I’m not performing a strip-tease
on blushing paper
I’m dropping acid and milling through a labyrinth
of fun house mirrors
trying to guess the riddle from the answer
I am the fangs and soft under-belly of a tiger
I prowl, I stroll
through jungles and studio apartments
I am an angel with track marks
pawning my halo to fund my habit
I find comfort in your similar confusion
we are all at odds with ourselves
and only in death do we break even
only in death does the compass stop spinning
assemble my manual of words
Discover my black box, the still truth
and then record your own.
first appeared in NOUS 2015
Read my interview with W.I.S.H. press, July 20, 2016.
View my listing in the Poets and Writers Directory of Writers.