Tease of Unlikeness

     

   Only a few

fragments of the new-

     ly found

 

face are

    intact. The death

  mask, I

 

mean—only some

   parts not u-

sually deemed

 

   parts, pasty

shards, random

   crumbly

 

   scatterings  

the man at

     the podium—feigning chance

 

        linkages—

   fingers, his skin

taut & grainy when

 

enlarged onto the front of the dang-

       ling flat surface

     looming  

 

  behind him

against the wall. The audience,

         silent. The fake

 

   broken

face; the room,

   not huge. The room

 

not small. Swells of

   whispers hush-

ing—hushed—three

 

   pieces half-

fitting for

   a moment, making        

 

a corner of sorts. The

man at the podium

   stopping, stepping

 

back, circling

   the projector, the audience

watching the ridged

 

               image behind him

all the time—the left

   half of a brow

 

   maybe, no, the

brunt of the

   lips, those two turned

 

   puffs or just 

one lip, socket

curves—no, no, a chin

 

   niche, cheek

hook, nostril

      clump nostril

 

frame? The cracked fake face. The audience,

perchance approaching

   the podium. The

 

   audience,

perhaps being

      the brokenness.

                       

                                                                           (first appeared in American Letters & Commentary #24)