It creeps up on me early morning
and again late afternoon
a microcephalic shadow,
almost the length of a football pitch,
Land of the giants view
My childlike head is miles
away and dwindling,
constantly deflating
Proteus syndrome echoes
back through generations
crossing time zones too
Elongated diffraction
casts a very long shadow,
tapering reality
Low sun dysmorphia
projects a reflection of me,
A filtered perspective
revealing my only truth
Those beans I threw away
yesterday were not magic
No golden goose lives atop the stalk
just a grotesque shell,
and one giant (yoke)
flattening all potential
I try look away
but as always
a grain of sand
blocks my view
Come chop me down,
flinch as I fall
Step over my shadow
you’ll need
(seven league boots)
But most of all,
no fixed roots!