Self Reflection

My face is a canvas on which ever busied time will paint for decades. My lips are dried out magnets of unseen power and attraction. My ears are smithies that poundr the sounds from the hammer to the anvil. My hands are warm taloned machines that alternately build and destroy. My knees are shredded toilet paper thrown in oak trees before a monsoon. My heart’s a molten battery that doubles as a punching bag. My eyes are two long dead stars whose fragile green lights have just reached the Earth.