Friday, April 25, 2008

Ode to Beard # 3 (The Patriarch)

With sheers against the jaw
Mine dignity did fall
The coarsness of thine spirals glistened
and seeped into the bog.

My face now bare as swine-hide
I tremble in despair.
But soon fear turns to reverie
and I simply cease to care.

For though I have forsaken thee
Our months as one live on
In photographs and arty poems
and the coyote-call at dawn.

Yet now and then I'll grasp my chin
and wonder where you've been
your comfort everlasting,
whisk's enchanting my poor jaw.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Ridiculous. Are you sure nobeard isn't a mistake?

alejandro said...

beautiful