Categories
Poetry

Doin’ the peacock

A hand cupping a chin

two chins

three chins

a hand glued to the face

a face

feigned in profound contemplation

a face chiselled

sculptured

hidden in obfuscation

the cigarette

a stare into the unknowing

the face

this way

that way

the light

caressing

slapping

the soul within

without

don’t you just hate that with a passion.

You would never catch Marinetti doin’ the peacock.

Larry Kevinour

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