Face People

[miyako73]

In my home, in my dim universe,
Three hundred square meters
Including bathroom and garage,
I sculpted sadness on the leaves
Of the flowers, satin and garish,
Collecting spider webs and dust.

I wrote deep words and phrases,
Literature of suffering and despair,
On the expired market calendar
Crossed out in bold, still hanging
On the wall of gray peeling paint
Reminding the old dates I missed.

I painted the ceiling with the clouds
From the memories of a blind child
Mourning the death of his angels,
Grieving the bleeding of their wings
And the birds that flew to the East,
Dying and confused, for the moon.

In my house, in my obscure cosmology,
Doors locked and all windows closed,
I photographed them, the blurry people,
Their clear faces distorted by anguish,
The vague smiles I saw and touched
On the floor wet from endless weeping.