Wishing upon
a drifting white twig
in hopes
that a prayer
will become a hook
and one can rest
in the gathering
alabaster arena of fluff
where a seamstress of criticism
can’t alter
one’s garment of assumed angelic composure
worn most often
while staring
into the wallet.
This journey
mystified
is rendered barren
by the fang’s of flaws.
Endurance’s breath
colors the mirror.
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