Face
My face flows down from my facial features To the pillow A slop of uncertainty Salty human ink-pot The face discharged into palms Is sticking on pads of fingers It fears That being exposed to light It will completely flake off My face flows down from my facial features To the pillow Letters of doubts A frail human primer book My face flows down from my facial features To the pillow It hides itself like the next to the last pages Of the human calendar
My face flows down To my pillow It catches at my palms Dutifully It asks me not to move Saying nothing will ever return Saying it flows down like a prey Over wax of anathema The face is tensioning the spiral As it hopes to catapult it It hopes it can flow down the wax of misery Like a bubble The face will sift through my fingers And just echoes will remain here out It will return to the unknown Where it was born
Face to face to myself I sit with my face in my palms The examination begins right now Everyone apologizes their own Wrong decisions But the face blasphemes them all
