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
aiurea press 