R O D   M I L L E R

 

I had to touch my face
before my head exploded.
After a month of being told
not to, because I would
singlehandedly steepen
the curve and old people
in Oregon would die, I
broke down and touched
my face. Not so much
touched as groped, felt,
caressed, mauled my
very own face, my eyes
my lips, my nostrils, my
beard and wrinkled forehead
like I was touching a woman
for the first time wanting
to know everything and
those things that are more
than everything. I
felt up my face despite
the warnings, sucked my
fingers, picked my nose.
I had little difficulty
keeping my distance
from other people but
I was unwilling to die
having forgotten my own
face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Photo credit: freepik.com


 

Join the conversation

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.