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Guest Poet Leslie Bianchi

Skin Deep


back a thin layer of skin-a slice
of so-called truth, revealing
moist, flimsy
perception; thinking-the onion stink
can make one cry, then try
again, expecting in the end
the Truth will lie

exposed. Yet
one finds nothing, but the wet
of confusion-peels of dead
flesh, shriveled
into possibilities; each lying
in the womb of relativity-a vast
graveyard of choices. Placid

facets, sparkling
into existence-in


December, 2001

Leslie Bianchi's questions:

Should I keep the separation of the first and last words? IF not why? If so why?

Do the line breaks work?

Does the imagery work for this poem?

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