a face is a background – a stretcher bar for the city’s ritual masks – a face is
a face no matter how much it widens I like it when it widens as if the sun is widening
a face says nothing only mouths speak Munch – a face is only a silhouette
of a scream – it is not necessary to a scream except like an echo
a face dies last (I’ll forget nails and hair) – it opens into
fall when collars are worn in frames street
faces were seen too clearly by Cezanne – on the linen leaving a white
polygonal stain –
a face is nerves muscles eyes twitchings – a nest of scenes with
lapwings – covered by water
a face is more a demonstration of a crime than a lawyer – a face –
the flagbearer of begging
on the field of battle faces are necessary so they’d recognize bodies
so you’d recognize fear in the middle of a forest far from the settlements –some
faces don’t differ from those of snakes –
fossilized faces – which split into uncountable eyebrow
fragments
if you want to drive yourself crazy – ask yourself: “what‘s my face?” and run to the
television
I like faces when they are coalminers’ – when they’ve gone to the mines – when
they return from the mines
on their faces bringing the mountains back to their women – leaving them on
breasts and lips - - - - - - - - - -
a face is a mine that collapses – or remains an empty cavity – for the dampness
of streets the darkness of bats
faces speaks when the concentrated methane gas explodes . . .
EN 
MK