Leviathan

Today I saw myself
within a rippling pool
my image a cyanotype version
of something inside,
something just below the opaque
reflection, so I get on my knees
offering my hand, I reach in deeper
into the cool depths of the liquid
and recoil it in shock,
my hand and brow moist with revelation,
there are some things
I would rather not remember.

I have noticed that I started a two of the previous poems with a description of hair. I love hair, maybe it is because I have a mom who is a hairdresser, but to me, there is nothing like feeling soft hair on freshly-shaved skin. It has a huge emotional attachment for me, I am afraid that I will someday fall in love with a girl simply because of her unusually soft hair.

Masks

Angelina jolie's face is on the wall
eyes closed and sprayed gold,
Immortalized in plaster.
though her lips are full
and sculpted.
even now there are lines on her face.
And her head is strangely shaved, like a monk.

this image is what we are told
is perfection, this is beauty,
even more so than the real:
this will never fade, this will never cry
this will never bleed, nothing ugly like pain
will cross this face.

But even here there are lines on her face
and her head is shaved, like a monk
atoning for it all...