I can't comprehend
Anything less like myself
Than this man in the mirror:
This morning, unshaven
And pale
He threw on clothes
Encrusted with stains
And vomited
Again, and coughed up a little blood.

His eyes were wild
But awfully tired
And his hair
Was barely recognisable
As having a smart side parting
I watched this alien
For hours
A spectre,
He glared
And talked himself into shaving,
At least.