Written by Lynn White
In those streets
of men and boys,
in that country
for men and boys,
he felt like a man with no face,
his face space occupied
by a swirling mist of confusion.
So he had to wait,
as they all waited,
for it to settle down
to see what emerged
if anything did.
Sometimes
he wished for a blank space
that he could fill himself
with a Magritte apple
or even a woman
un-blanked
and visible.
Sometimes
he wished he could wear
the same face every day,
wake up with it in place
and know it would stay,
know what he would be,
what he could be every day.
Text © Lynn White
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exactly
Waiting to, become who he’s, meant to be, and, he can’t, hurry up in his own, coming into being, because, life happens, on its own terms, using its own, pace.