Face

I feel about this small,
a thimbel shaped growth,
unshaped and common.
Who are they? not me,
not her, not him, no sense,
of identity nor of sense.

swelled.

Cold like a snake,
barb poised.
What am I? Dispute it,
You know better.
Injured and fat, lie like
a great serpent.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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