Poem: Faces

 

Faces

liquid origami,

not so nude as glass.

thin-skinned secrets

tucked in ovals,

fanning out

from the big top of the nose.

 

werewolves

when they perform.

such Medeas and Mercurios,

swelling up supple, sexy on the chase,

only to collapse

from brow to brow.

 

a wrinkle sometimes

strains at the leash.

such craft 

in the tug of a tiny vein.

an eyelid blush.

 

chins reel,

when they talk,

nettlesome from the task of words.

even when true, 

curves scrunch into safety nets,

defensive weaves 

of rotes and vogues ... 

faces/words ... 

they parachute when pushed,

down into seas of what-abouts and if-thens.

never quite able to float where they land,

or go deeper,

or rise up again.

 

 

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9/26 ... lots of changes

11/30 ... a few mods

11/29/24 ... a few mods