Your face appears in everything I see:
from clouds to leaf prints pressed into cement.
Your image swirls in milky cups of tea
(unfair, as you're lactose intolerant).
Your lips, distended, on a piece of bronze;
a smear of lipstick on a serviette
and eyes in places no eyes should belong.
I know that we deserve just what we get
but, in my own defence, it wasn't me
who thought the paranormal would be cool,
and now you're trapped 'between the worlds' I see
it's worse than being stranded in Blackpool.
So, in conclusion, don't touch the occult,
unless you're a responsible adult.
|Barbara Hepworth - Family of Man|