Faces on the Wall

The faces on the wall tell me beautiful lies,
lies truer than the now; 
some lie better than others
some I relate to
Envy
Admire.
And some faces have no face at all
No bodies of flesh or blood
Just a procession of
brilliant ghosts
gothic junkies
doctors of words and phrases
runaway Frenchman (or boy) who waltzes into
arms of Pharaohs and
eludes the Apostles with a red albino
who was a
Bad
Shot.
Some faces are drawn with pencil
(like the Pharaoh loving Frenchy)
or the one and only Dorian Gray who stares at me with
one bight blue eye and wears a collar branded with
his creator’s
three
syllable
name and impressive credentials.
And now I am one of those faces on the wall
A fresh face amid people I admire
And who only speak when I want them to.

 

**Poem by Jon Vreeland

**The picture I took at the Book Den in Santa Barbara Ca.  

 

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