The fine maps of faces.


Lines

Lines in palms and poems
don’t mean shit, man
It’s the ones in faces
that tell the future

Work it out
Put away the night-cream
Let me know you
and you, yourself

The poetry’s in your eyes
Mostly at the corners,
where your history
paints roadmaps

Let me read your mouth
The writing’s there
at the edges
All I want to know

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection

THE SMELL OF TWEED
AND TOBACCO

available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.