JILL ALEXANDER ESSBAUM Thirty-Three Mirrors, One Man
In this mirror a hole is like a heart. In this one it isn’t. In this one a third eye bats an alien lash. In this mirror you lash out. In this one a beggarman coughs up change. In this one you comb your villain mustache. The Red Baron bears magnetic north. In this one you’ve a preference for redheads. In this one you love that girl with a gappy smile. Jesus has no hand in this. Jesus holds his own hands of holes. In this mirror a hole is like a hand. A whole hand. We may or may not have been married. In this one you hide in an alcove. In this one a series of prostitutes go missing. In this one an alibi isn’t enough. A steamboat sinks. You are a child.
A child who changes names without permission. In this one you say one thing but mean another. And Hell below is in an uproar to meet you at your coming. It stirs up demons for you. In this one Hell is like a hole. In this one Hell is always a hole. A cataract eye sees but half.
In this one you pray for God, who rarely gets prayed for. In this one we never meet, not even to part. In this one you part your hair on the left. In the one on the left, all is not lost. In the one on the far left all is. In this one nothing’s left.
Nothing is left but to leave and not look back. 50
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