G - You are my politician

and I am your bronze cast death mask
cold and contorted in a ludicrous grin
A merry harlequin to mummify your features
I'm your surface, your very texture
From me your foreign policy unfolds and
I see it unravelled before me as
Experience, she teaches
she teaches you the art of deceit
so that you won't be the one who will admit
or face defeat, who will cease, retrace his steps
for in doing so you sacrifice those steps toward
your goal - to instigate, cajole
to implicate, control
This is a ploy. A ploy, my friend.

You must cover the mannequin
Your position is to be built upon
You ask your mirrors to make decisions for you
A swivel of my eyes so that they face inward
I see
The brow furrowed in the fret of consequence
The lips fluttering in search of the perfect word
The frown frozen (if it moves the guise may slip,)
The sweat crawling, a conspiracy of doubt
An image far removed from my ludicrous grin
But then, I am everything to you - am I not?

I am your black beautiful shining boots
swallowing and unrevealing
of all your stubbed, blistered, plastered toes
Hush, child, hush, child
for if you speak with too much bile
your tongue'll fall out, then you'll be left gaping
while the moment splits into a thousand nightmares
Experience, she grows
she grows and she dominates
not only in you, but in all around you
Soon your situation will mimic that face I see
behind my back - I, your bronze cast death mask
behind the fitting hat
beyond the forgotten deceit