No truce with the furies

The furies are at home in the mirror
it is their address
Even the clearest water
if deep enough can drown
Never think to surprise them
Your face approaching ever so friendly
is the white flag they ignore
There is no truce with the furies
A mirror's temperature is always att zero
It is ice in the veins
Its camera is an x-ray
It is a chalice held out to you
in silent communion
where gaspingly you partake of a shifting identity
never your own


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