the matter of bemoaning
gaining an audience the size
  to tickle fame being minded...
   what a horrible
       enterprise...
         a crow dies but no one
minds the croaking
             impetus of a stand-still...
  as an orc might mind be
playing the bad sort...
                 three count toward
a four a.m.,
         and does it really matter
by now?
               perhaps...
          hood off, hair not was washed
for a week...
        pretending to give
a **** about cosmopolitan
        comercials...
         sniffing armpits?
            that's one way of
making the "problem" concise...
             we can stare scared,
or stand stiff...
                  but we can easily
seek narcissus in canvases
beside imitation of a mirror...
                  the clear imagine
impression came with narcissus...
but the other demigod?
            occulus?
                     look at my current e.g.,
no still lake, no mirror,
   but a piece of glass
the the right shading worth
either luna or solus...
                    to make an exfoliating
flash of crafting dimensions
akin to shading...
                       but by now it doesn't
really matter...
                  whatever worth of
photography wasted on a mirror...
is the least adventure of
glass allowing the same
              take on short-script
revision of painting...
             even if jim carrey
     needed colour...
            i kept myself busy...
                       looking for a canvas.