The pains you cannot confront
Perhaps you can paper over
With the craft of wash and brush.
Like you do the plain,
Pale and thin dream caught
Flat in your reflection
Watching a new layer of foundation
Grow up over the bruises
From swift draughts drawn up
Inspiring new abuses sustainable
Within this old, crowded amalgm
Of Self, blinded to the pain of the past
By the distress flare smile that leaves
To join will-o-wisps frozen in amber
Beyond the glass.
The magic has been paved over in this city.
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