Your stabs hit me exactly where you hope they would
with such ferocity that gouges out all vanity and conceit.
A knife thrust through the illusions of my bloated ego,
An ugly distortion of an inner image through a plastic glass
which finally crumpled with me looking at the looking-glass self.
The poem was published in May’s Winamop issue. To read it and vote visit :http://winamop.com/sk1600.htm