MR COGITO STUDIES HIS FACE IN THE MIRROR Who wrote our faces chicken pox for suremarking its o’s with a calligraphic penbut who bestowed on me my double chinwhat glutton was it when my whole soulyearned for austerity why are my eyesset so closely together it was him not mewaiting in the scrub for the Vened invasionthe ears that protrude two fleshy seashellsno doubt left me by an ancestor who strained for an echoof the thunderous march of mammoths across the steppesthe forehead not too high it doesn’t think very much—women gold land don’t get knocked off your horsea prince did their thinking for them and a wind bore them alongthey tore at walls with their bare fingers and with a sudden cryfell into the void only to return in me but didn’t I go shopping in art salonsfor powders potions masksthe cosmetics of nobilityI held marble up to my eyes Veronese’s greensI rubbed my ears with MozartI trained my nostrils on the musk of old booksin the mirror the face I inheriteda sack of old meats fermentingmedieval cravings and sinspaleolithic hunger and terroran apple falls not far from the treethe body is locked into the chain of species
Posted on: Fri, 26 Jul 2013 05:12:50 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015