The mirror disappeared. I hope another mirror appears. If not I'll look into Lulu's eyes. Waiting not waiting to see what happens next. Silence is painful, wondering about the inhuman end of the human world. Will artificial intelligence be the final reflection of the world fully committed to the system of the catastrophe? I remember a mirror I took home from the street, the reflection flaked off. I looked through it a while then put it in the alley behind the chicken butcher. The chicken butcher who once tried to strangle me. I think of an abstract mirror reflecting no one. Does anyone here know where Bill went? Isn't it all, after all our endless reflection, abstract? What is a poem no one reads?