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by David R Spellman

Still, my fingers find the mark
and trace the cut-line where
from ear to lip, my sliced face
only shows your presence when
stretched just short of a drum’s -
tightness swells within my gut
which cannot escape feeling
pierced by the wounds of
societal ills and my own
naive beliefs that scars are
only made by surgical precision
or accidental effects. My own
reminds me only of stupidity
and reluctance to yield.


Posted on 04/10/2002
Copyright © 2020 David R Spellman

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