Guest Poet Leslie Bianchi
Skin Deep
Peel
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
voice.
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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