face

The blade has been drawn
across your skin,
the poison mixed in your
red tea.
I have placed the barrell
to your temple, and
am but a
hair-trigger away.

*

I have walked
naked under the stars,
a ghost in this
blinding moonlight;
I have danced
naked, as the open sky
watches, disinterested.
I have channeled the creeping
fingers of the fog,
wrapped it
around my nakedness
and jumped
and laughed
and let it in
to warm me;
I have bored into
my forehead
the frost
that was gifted.

*

Dead through the winter,
I wake now
with not a trace
of dream or
faded memory;
I look around
me,
at the world that is
scattered
with scarves, tissue,
half-burned cigarettes
and half-torn-and-tossed sheets
of scribbled fantasy.

I look up to the ceiling
(the world drones on
in the background)
and wish sleep back into
dead eyes,
swollen eyelids.

*

The mirror stands, tall
and dull.
It stares back.
No bullet penetrates.
No knife scratches the
unflinching surface.
No fog nor sky
dare penetrate.
The mirror stands
oblivious to dream
memory
and will.
The mirror stares,
unflinching
impenetrable
unchanging.