I
(in the hall of mirrors where not only Narcissus
is enthroned free from giddiness on his pillar of despair
eternity suckled with a grimace
the land of unlimited possibilities
in the hall of mirrors where a single infected sob
escaped the crossed rapiers of indifference
and transformed the air into promise and soil
that ran down all the city’s windows
in the hall of mirrors where perfection is punched in sheet metal
and carried like a prisoner in the standard breast
where the word commits harakiri in the gleam of explosions
and the trumpet tastes of crushed china and dying blood
in the hall of mirrors where one becomes the far too many
and yet would fall as dew in time’s grave)
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