Monday, July 5, 2010

Carving, From Fallen Rocks, a Face To Strange To Love

The weight of its features and the taste of dust

are the prices I pay for a face that won’t rust

But also my back buckles and my waking is strained

Still, this face is impervious to the wind and the rain

when I came to the river, I was so scared I’d drown

So I sat by the water, at home with the ground

till I met a man with a face made of skin

He jumped in the river and started to swim

Every road he had taken was carved on his brow

The scars of his travels he wore like a crown

The madness of him, to live so unguarded

was juxtaposed to the life he had fathered

So alone I sat, as even more passed me by

If my eyes were like their’s I think I would cry

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