November 23, 2020
The mirror is affixed. Town moves behind it. All the lives exist inside it, but you can't take them out, can you! They live in another chapter of reality you haven't read yet. Hoping the next I might gather its fury from the flatlining landscapes expanding. You sit agog, transfixed to the parade of the dullard I's collected, down the furious glass replicating street, bending up and down your quaintest ideas of your own reflection. Ha. I can feel this perambulating disease, this disquiet rumbling the incoming night that swallows day so greedily you might chastise if the time came.