01-31-2009 Few modern artists want to deal with the pince-nez 31

A face finds form in points of chin or through
a single sweep of nose. Symmetries rise
to frame an arcing brow. And two by two
unjungled beasts stagger aboard. The eyes

pursue a flatt’ring bulge. The ears ensnare
a fate. The lips dissect what’s not quite round
about an unspun plate. We climb our stares
desperately searching for familiar mounds

of flesh and mold imposing figures from
our widely rooted dreams. Hope reconciles
itself as every oblong need becomes
another shadow twin. For those rough piles

aren’t vast enough to hide the self we say
we see in every hungry lump of clay.