Too Many Faces

They call it intoxicating. Spices full
on humidity, shrinking circles of heat run
down the small of my back, diesel
drips in sweat, salt on my lips— so
why do lungs full of carcinogens
feel like a relief? In the end you tire
of the faces, always staring, smiling
all the time like marigold hearts
worn on loose sleeves. Not so much
an assault on senses as an attack
on my sanity; overindulgence
in samsara. No wonder, then, this
belief in rebirth, endless circles of pain
to match this growing pain in my head:
There are, after all, only so many faces
to go round

© copyright David F. Barker 2012

Peterborough, England, BST

Open Link Night ~ Week 54

Poem ‘Face’

Face

The face of winter
hangs rigid like death
pinching my ears
stabbing at my nose

Plumes of steam
from concrete slits
blur hunchback figures
shuffling through
the matte scenes
in ashen white

I’m looking for heat
stamping
flicking ash
on lunar prints
sealed in fortnight ice
waiting for steel facades
and great sheens of glass
to emanate your face
from rippling sepia shapes

poem and image © copyright David Francis Barker 2012
image digitally created