I have no face.

It happened last summer;
a dark season even the
dogs remember, feel the heat
and cringe.

I had spent too long
dreaming of black holes,
bottle in hand, waking
to see that my eyes were mirrors,
reflecting infinitely.

I stood before plaza crowds, restless,
the heat buzzing in all our heads,
And spoke my philosophy-
that void is beautiful,
that nothing is the only thing
that makes sense. Why
the countless variations,
atom to cell, flavors of shade,
odors stale and sweet? Unexplainable.

The gradations of my shadow
lost themselves in galaxies.
The crowds had no time
for nonexistent truths,
we exist! Can’t you see!
And I crawled back,
mouth empty, unraveling in ribbons
eyelashes dissolving, cheeks slabs
Of cushioned void. Nothing.
I plunged into theory and mathematics,
gravity in the relation
of one cigarette to another.
truth only works on those who believe in it
and now I have no face.