Here is my face in the morning, shadows
even now under my eyes & in my cheeks.
Sleep creased across my forehead, and my beard
is but a millimeter longer.
And
here are my eyes at noon-time, squinting at
the out-of-focus lady a block away.
With clearing clouds, my sleeves are bundled and
rolled, cautionless, about my elbows.
And
here, shoes off, glasses on, am I ready
to meet the final twilight hours. In
my perfect, infamous, impersonation
of a rock or mannequin, I watch
the flickering scenes of the sit-com life
on my varying-shades-of-gray video.
10.XI.82