Recovery, Relenting

27 May 2012

There is hair growing from my face
--rather, hairs--
black and course and
sprouting from my skin like

bristles--
Come and stroke me! I am
a brush,
but with a handle limp

Pluck one and seven more grow in its place;
the root inflamed and brewing,

boiling
Better just to shave, the
public tells me
Crop them, graze the tops then and 
let the public see blue stubble,

thick and ingrown--
dig at them and the skin will bleed
in spite

Retribution?
still I scratch

One week and again they stand.
Pluck one and nine more grow in its place,
the root boiling, betrayal
This is what you get for defying me and

The Grand Cycle of Denial
The stubble surely is invisible?
But, ah, the blood dots aren't.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

I will never be taller, or thinner, or possess a more pleasing - more classically aquiline nose. But, if I look in the mirror just so, and tweak the light to lower the glow...