ezra pound

 Purloined wrinkles pressed from your face, taken away by pictures, going backward in time, you were a delightful young man, but what happened to you? Insanity plea, set you free, you couldn’t accept responsibilities, the motion of lips, mustache twists, smile to frown, suit to gown, how you made it, rejoice, resound, if your name isn’t Ezra Pound, I do not know just who I’ve found, suspenders hang from waste to ground, pristine fingernails and sunken face with heavy frown, face was once perfectly round. Now elongated with a frown, I didn’t know that your name wasn’t Ezra Pound. On the street corner holding up a lamp stand, your glorious self hovers a foot above the ground.  Chipping into your pot, your music makes no sound, I soon realize, you are Ezra Pound. Every face is God’s face from what I can see, with pinstriped pants and unbuttoned sleeves.

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