I am cultivating a fear of my face,
I find in particular it's the side streets
with the lip line gutters
that keep me moving past shop fronts, particularly fast.
To try to keep it clipped
I've made a map of all the places I find friends;
the white wax park performer, that will not wink,
the newsagent with a one way window,
the felt green fountain chocking out 'coin coin crup.'
I find myself at family parties,
looking for likeness,
sta starring my fingers with sausage sticks,
keeping conversation just on the kniferight of rude.
