What controls a face

Slow and quiet from the periphery of your years I come to sully you.
I am like an ant, a ship, a sock, an earthquake you didn't feel.
I come blank, watching, to soak in you like foam.
Discreetly I lay down plans, actions, secrets.
And I land planes, secretions—
I do those things to prep your three dimensions.
I am a doctor, a labourer, as well as the mother of fruit.
I am alone.
I am misguided.
Someone says I am misguided.
What controls attraction to weeping willows versus pines or palms?
Do those colliding clichés that do anything for love know when to fold you?
When I see, I see only you.
When I think, I see only you.
It is your face that fucks me, your face with which I play video games at night.
This is all your face's doing.
What controls chance? You should kill it.
It is your face that fucks.
Your face that fucks up everything.


xTx said...

out of the ballpark.
like, that shit exploded the sun.

An Unreliable Witness said...

This is another one of your poems where I really would prefer to read it hidden under the table, quaking in mortal fear.

ty bluesmith said...

smiley face emoticon.

no. the winking one.

~otto~ said...


Roberta said...

'to soak in you like foam' and 'It is your face that fucks me, your face with which I play video games at night' were my favourite lines.

weeping willows are just prettier than pines and palms, imho.