Whose Face

Staring into the mirror
the face morphs.
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

Photosensitive chlorophyll
extracted from brugmansia
planted on nerve endings.

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