You've never seen a squint as deep,
the forehead split into divides;
the shadowed troughs against the peaks.
The accidental penswipe eyes
retreat to fleshy hermitages,
hiding, Gollum-like, their prize.
The lips reach out like villages
sucked trickle-dry, they find no font
and hunt for sweeter patronages.
You've surely never seen the glint
of Arthur's nose, which leaps, roof-bound,
and freezes, like a Matrix stunt
while teeth chew data round and round
till pulped. The sparks
from either ear dive to the ground.
Stand back, I say. He barks
sometimes, when deep in thought,
like a tough mutt starved of walks
Then finally, the logic knot
is undone. Arthur falls,
as does his face. He folds it,
neatly tucks the swells
beneath his jaw once more.
A cappuccino, Art? He smiles.
