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He polishes his face of glass
Gleaming bright
In every false light
Reflecting all he wants to see
Except his mouth
Is an open grave
And eyes line his coat
Like double-breasted buttons.
A faithless kiss
Damp and cold
Lips apart
For all to see
Hanged itself
From a straggled tree.
Each of us
Chooses truth
Whose truth becomes our own
And brazen masks
Must fall
Into a porcelain shatter
So forgiveness
Can kiss Nietzsche.
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