Mirror, Mirror

See the sea of souls
on the mirror, meditating on the meaning
of the reality, aroused by their own reflection,
and accepting it is accurate.

In wealth and high rise;
Nowhere else there’s a picture
Of style and substance

In whisky bottles
Lies the nature of artful;
Redefine babble

In others’ image
Lies our likely photographs,
Our real snaps stink

Revolution chimes
In tune with the excretion
Of displaced people.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Which is the fairest of all
— the wealth or its illusion;
the whisky bottles or its effects;
others’ reality or our dreams;
the revolution or the excretion?