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Skimming ghosts with Prosopon
by Shirin Swift
I see your human face as a mask.
It tangles with your soul like suckle strangling the rest. I see
you struggle to remove your eyes from the crook of a tree.
You look at me all the time as you grope through the stars,
low enough to hang the sun over the entranceway of cafés
pique the woman who mixes gossip into philosophy.
In your hands you cup a thinly veiled tract by Nestorius,
below you, sails billow and your feet are lost in clouds
sent upward from a cigarette and a flat white. You let
them dominate you, the ants, the rats.
In Amsterdam, you made a pass at two young foreign girls,
choosing to sit on their bench, dont you know we own this street,
this world? The surface of life is for the ones who cannot rest.01/12/2008 Posted on 01/12/2008
Copyright © 2024 Shirin Swift
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 01/12/08 at 05:47 AM Beatiful and rich... my favorite in"the crook of a tree" I find the creatures that I identify as me..and you.... great last line... establishes a mood a basis for the rest ... I love reading you! |
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