David Williams

Face by Zane Bullard

those lips (cuneiform
at edge), reddened (prosaic
melancholy) puckering, (symmetrical
enough) spending themselves
in himalayan uplift,

tear framed.

and change begins with a grimace.
the smell of stale air

she heads north in stead of south,
in ward in stead of out.
with the subtle grace of
recovering clumsy,

inside out.

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Archives: Fall 2010.

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