Face-ism

My world evolves around
beards and moustaches.
And I know it’s weird and fascist
but why should some stubble and a handlebar
ever hold a candle to who we truly are?
How a little misplaced pube dictates my mood
catches my face off-guard.

I’m way too spatially aware how facial hair frames my existence
spitting persistence of bad memories when swans reflected elephants
and the seven-year itch lasted centuries.
I feel like the Salvador Dalai Lama
a face wrapped gap-toothed Osama
A Talibanzai bush untrimmed
whenever these Chia-Cheeks are improperly primped.

I mean if things are going my way,
I shave and behave well-groomed
while all potential brides electric slide and shyly swoon
until my five o’clock shadow
flypapers past
too fast too soon after breakfast and before high noon.
And it’s a Mexican stand-off between I and all potential poon.

The Good, The Bad the Scary…
A Faceful of Five Dollars- and I’m Abraham Lincoln as Dirty Hairy
I keep shaving but it still grows the same

So For A Few Dollars more I could be the Man with no Mane
Should be a no brain
A spaghetti western that would rather be lo- mein
Instead my baby’s bottom has become Chewbacca Bigfoot on Rogaine

So believe me
despite the three wise men’s advice
You don’t wanna cross me when I’ve got the fashion of the Christ

When things are shit I go Jesus mixed with cousin IT,
and I can’t help but leave this face unattended to for days
the straggly haired and unkempt look stays
the full moon rises

and I’m caught in a teen wolf Charlie Chaplin craze,
but this dark side of the Hitler-face is just a passing phase
cuz one razor sharp crispy clean Blade shows me I can be Wesley Snipes
or David Bowie
in a labyrinth
and amaze.