That faceless man I knew
had hair to grow and scars
to earn and bones to break
on shiny motorcycles black,
and seamless flesh beneath
his eyes so ingenue and blank.
That faceless man I knew
claimed innocence, green
innocence and awkward grace,
with leaves to burn, lean
thighs to ride and running
roads unparalleled before
his mirrors looked back,
before each winding road
wound down upon itself,
before his face was cast,
before I learned what I’ve
become, before I earned
what I’ve defined, before
the earth sped round the sun,
again…again…
Appeared in The Magazine of Speculative Poetry
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