Monday, February 13, 2012

death rubbings

Harvey S. Mozolak

an irritating imperfection of the flesh
to wear God ruined
where he can be seen
a solemn sore
dried boil at evil’s ulcer
and the memory of the wearer’s mind
worn rubbed on a tombstone
before it is set
over the stilled heart
there on the face
above the smile and frown
where furrowed contemplation
is planted in the subsurface
blood-watered soil
there we attempt to draw our own

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