A Book of Faces
Faces, farces, frames and fragments,
following, fumbling and floating;
no vernal blossoms,
no fountain,
a fiction whirls in a fraction,
a fusion.
A fetish,
frozen and fallen;
a fossil, a forest,
a feeling,
flash and flaunt
the fluroscence.
Then weakened is the flame
and withered is the feather,
in the careless commotion
of fingers.
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