One cannot be a veracious doppelganger anymore.
They do not exist.
If you look in the mirror for homologies;
You will find exact: zero.
I spoke too soon. Now,
With much horror,
My worst fears, alive!
The marvelous identical improbability,
That will never dub a name
A HISTORIC RELIC WITH DECORATED NIGHTMARE BODYPLATE PIERCING BACK.
Primus Pilus!
Replace the resemblancer.
The replica and effigy.
The cultures’ glassed chokehold persists…
No modern war fare invents
The incarnate of my devilish soul, spit.
Then out in the wavering grass,
I saw clearly it’s name.
Then sharks swam close and thought,
What I HAVE to do but do not do…
But the invocation
Just screams,
Amara,
Did I defeat you?
Have I killed you?
The pilum over the olive wreath
I had to do it twice
My carbon copy’s shimmering life.
Finally, alone, back home
With one life to show
Two stones, one dead ringer
Maybe all I got is identity theft for a life
I do not speak of copycats with small, wavering tails.
The vanity presses, patient now as I bash my head in.
Soon after my cohort efforts noticed,
Gayly, ranked to centurion, the words
DOPPELGANGER GANG appears on the walls
Back home
One last fight,
To smite with fists
Trapped in flashes of hot youth,
Wet dramatizations, spit.