Monday, January 14, 2008


few ever truly see into your face,
gazing beneath its surfaces like spelunking
lovers, seeking out truths with a
discontent reserved only for those who see
flattery as merely
many incomplete, half-believed
you reflect lovingly, gently, knowing
what can be bourne and not and duplicating
that which is presented you
even as it is duplicated back unto (deeply focused,
like infinity) to propagate
an endless race of emptiness
if the seer so chooses--
you know that
youth is in the eye of the lifelessly gaunt
just as the child is first to see the beauties
of a wrinkle.

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