Escapism

The escape artist stood in front of a mirror naked
saw only what disgusted
not hands nor eyes nor legs nor waist
nor head nor arms nor neck
but the plain bulge of flesh that tore
into the idealism characteristic of a child or stupid adult
ah, how it would be good to be thin and beautiful
said the escape artist who only knew beauty in those separate realms
visited silently at night.

And the artist felt such shame
dripping down the drab drain
of meaningless thoughts and petty wishes.
This physical body could be written into fantasy
and the mind would still be drifting elsewhere
in a pretty shell
maybe with the ability to fly too.
Still, concern anchored this earthly corpse
better suited to a morgue
sitting at the bottom of the ocean.
The escape artist thought
Ah, how great it would be not to be so grounded