Beard
The razor’s slice against the grain
Take root to line your way of being
A shadowed voice calls out a name
Yet eyes’ gaze remains entangled
A stroke of luck, ingenious pose
The light bulb shows what no one knows
But lurking deep beneath the skin
The follicles wage war on man
Image conscious—be damned—ingrown
Rehearsed reverse shaved down to nil
To bare beyond what one expects
A mouth exposed is such a mess
Above the harried lips that hint
Piquing portals tackle the tact
Hear the shears are edging closer
Wisps that whisper from the lack
Then shed away, a leavened fall
Identity is pared for naught
To look unto a jab’ring jaw
And kiss the message left naked
