Face echoes the words spilled
every obtuse blemish
like war-torn pages
done countless battles with eager fingers
a mask is the unreliable cover
that suffers the eaten-away fate
tapered jaggedly to window
the sad lower level
the beaten exhausted pages
frayed as the edges
of a treasure map
septic cannot be corrected
is the lesson
and the dank black
makes it’s way to the surface
always pockmarks simplicity
it is inevitable
that it catches up
Face it
loses beauty faster than
a sinking boat loses hope
then finds it again
in it’s honesty
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