So much for sovereignty.
A still face
lends life into a mirror, mistakes
itself
for itself. A man, underside of glass
painted black
no light to enter the body.
I, unpresent
dressed naked.
You hinge light
on flesh
rotate shadows from grown angles
pivoted by you,
shown the source of light traced
but unfound
in the mirror.
Me, the lazy self portrait
I paints over.
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