Deliver me from this shot gun blast mess.
A hole where the middle of her face had been.
22 hours for new blood vessels, hollow
white arteries, hair dense stitches starting to pulse.
Donor face. Anna Kasper mask. Xipewear.
The eyes of the living seen through the face of one dead.
Will her soul reject her mask?
“You’ll leave like a breeze,” warned one tremble-anchored bush.
To smell and to live behind the sag of the mask.
To appear Other. Not to be Other but to radiate
Other as the death density of living dying.
Face stadium in which Anna Kasper ghosts flit.
C.G. Jung: “Projections change the world into the replica of
one’s unknown face.”
Miracle of Connie Culp being able to walk down the street
without being taunted.
What was the first mask?
The eyes of one’s dead rival staring through a waterfall?
10 June 2009