Steam-surging out of their factory,
rising up high from their genesis spot,
four of six faces look right into me,
the other two clearly will not.
.
This is as close as I’ll probably get
to what brings on this onset of faces
who daily beset me so I might beget
their effects on a white paper’s spaces –
.
I’ve as much clue of the what and the who
of the four who looked into my eyes
as I have of the psyches of those other two
who will never give up their disguise.
.
If a disguise it is, in fact: to think
I could know a damned thing but what I
might decide in a poem might blink
in their presence and not be a lie –
.
you can see why my mind goes numb.
And when I reflect on the spirit and letter
Of people I know, I’m equally dumb.
I don’t know any of them any better.
.
.
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