I have seen Elvis in my mirror.

Not the blue-black-haired sexy Elvis:

piercing eyes, taut skin reflecting the neon of a setting southern sun,

but the other one.

Fat, pig jowled.

cheeks like slabs of something dead.

Eyes like fish,

surprised to be set in something quite so bloated.

Left in a jar too long.

 My lips hang loose

as if too tired to ...

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