Doppelgänger Hell, by DM Rice
How many miles
must we march
blooms the recurrence
then subsides my
feeling closer you
smug to smile
the eternal questions
bare, conscript shaping
oligarchs of taste
;
weep, homonym, debasing
tendrils smutty with
likenesses of you
;
everyone like you
speaks of you
truly lust in
the gorge ablaze
my listless ache
of you, you,
you
;
even this poem
is you, speaks
D.H., Lawrence
of Arcadia, Golgotha
wanting shapely you
with bleached highlights
broken noses, entire
litanies of meticulously
flippant hair
;
each their insecurity
impish with sly
wisdom begrudging my
affection.
