Thursday, July 21, 2011

A Ten Minute Treatise On My Face

my face does
and peacefully
pushes air around

it catalogues the moments

a jar full of seasons

then busts and hangs
from a dry July branch

it is a smile

there are only
so many ways
an egg can taste bitter

the shell, for example

my face does
little to embalm
a minute

it only opens

a yearn for your flavor

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