I can’t help but succumb to the distorted reflection
From a mirror I did not break.
Though the glass isn’t stained, I take it as gospel
In a destructive act of theater
I follow the direction of the contorted, cold and jagged
Improv is not welcome, I don’t argue
The splintered self-image is familiar,
The blank wall behind is banal.
Notes are given quietly and constantly
Without breaking the never ending take,
I hold the reviews up to the mirror,
Trust that they are scathing.
This production will win no awards