Your lip curls in derision,
contempt for failings twists you.
Your eye gleams,
‘arc de triomphe’;
 your tongue trails
your rows of hapless prisoners,
an offering to ego’s altar.
Your gleam blinds you
to your own appetites,
 slaves with sweat glistening,
goose-stepping over cells
bound by shackles of steel.
Remove the plank,
and you can see to remove my speck.
Perhaps then,
sliver-free,
we can see
eye to eye.

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