Friday, March 9, 2012


A face emerges from
The curtain familiar in
Its shifting illusion per
Haps I should recognize
But it remains imprecise
Withholding a mystery
Unfocused in anguish
The material wavers in
Light & darkness in the
Creases & folds softly
Whispers of the breeze
As if perplexed by some
Transitory secret now
Gone limp & lifeless as
A pool of spent blood
Coagulating in the
Shadow of...


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