held at arm’s length
I try to see myself
in a concave mirror
an abstract confession
of an image I pretend is me
in order to come to some
clichéd absolution
but I become bored so
I stand arms flail
the air I lose balance
against the nothing
such a plodding gait
there’s not so much left
but a stumble to an end
(June 27, 2015)
subtext 