To be sheltered among echoes and mirrors,
that’s what the candidate wanted,
no hard shiny surface silent,
reflected image, resounded voice.
In the crowd, the politics of duplication,
every thought identical,
the governance of mimocracy.
Does the candidate imitate the crowd,
or does the crowd ape the candidate.
Between the candidate’s ear and eye,
no critical self-reflection,
just an unexamined self metastasized
in a throng of mimicking mirrors.