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