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Face the false starts
I think I’ll make a portrait
With inky words of my soul
But false starts get in the way
I’m hungry the body says
Feed the body, not the soul
The soul will pester my body
Make a mark, hear the critic
Draw a line and see the soul flee
So it begins with a portrait sketch
Every picture reminds me of me
False starts stutter and stumble like me
The three of us are in disagreement
My soul is amorphous like a poet
My critic plotting like Lucifer
And me completing my trinity
So say we all, say we all
When we are in tune
The ink will flow
Good starts start with a stumble
Start again like a toddler
Newborns do not make mistakes
Not like I do in this worn poem
Feed the soul, not the body
Watch the body wither in ecstasy
My soul is not my possession
Neither is this canvas of words
The body is mortgaged to the man
Only the ink is truly mine
Only when the nib hits the canvas
Then like a wasted body, compost
Many false starts are behind me
Even these words mirror my face
Feed this poem honest nouns
Let it sip my veritable verbs
A clean line is never neat
Like drilling for dirty oil on a gamble
We’ve ante our soul for a glimpse
I’ll feed you boiled eggs as a reward
I’ll fill you with Chilean wine
Just stop with all the false starts
Please stay steady for this portraiture
Make my reflection easy to gaze
I’ve shattered so many mirrors
These false starts never end
Just to capture a perfect portrait
No matter how I age I still look like me
My words still act like me
Maybe false starts are all that I am
False starts follow me to the end of the line
The soul waiting endlessly to take flight
I fill up the final stanza with all my faces
With false starts behind me this time
Like a photo from the past put away
Painting a portrait of me again and again
I think I’ll make a portrait with my soul
I’ll dip the body and soul in my ilk
I’ll make words better than my face
False starts will be my emblem
My portrait will become faceless
Then maybe true starts will begin
Copyright ©
Triny Xiang
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