Thursday, March 10, 2011


Harvey S. Mozolak

awaking from what prayers call
the little death

my morning mirror
shows some of the mark remaining
warm water on a washcloth
seems almost soothing
as it removes the seam of soot
from the burning
of a private fevered hope
erected quite publically

in a hardly seen event
which could be caught by film
only once a year
a man wore one
last night on television
he not necessarily well-liked
of a panel of three sport’s authorities
discussing games and scores
the streaks head-noted his words
asterisked his apparent thoughts
made him stand out for criticism
or revealing courage

I wondered if the makeup department
had to work around the lines
or perchance had a quantity of such dust
within the studio’s palette of powders
blushes and rouges
by which the living are made
more alive

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