Whose Face


Staring into the mirror
the face morphs.
Recoil
focus eyes,
but what lies behind?

Fixate the night sky,
connecting lines,
realize everything is still.

The buttons of
his earlobes,
a sticky note on the ground;
I like to dance.

Plant matter covers
the seats of the car,
exhaust pipes;
trails of smoke pour out.

Hands smelling
of wet cardboard
pickup mucus-green
tubes.

Photosensitive chlorophyll
extracted from brugmansia
planted on nerve endings.

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