My Face is a Koan
My face doesn’t match my face.
I mean my true face, on the flipside.
Inside I’m a double-O agent, Brando, Paul Newman.
Not Columbo, Chuck Laughton, Lorre.
When I dare the mirror, the divergence shocks me.
That’s not a reflection; it’s an imposter, a Bizarro
version, a reverse Dorian Gray portrait!
I pity that warped rendition for its failure to portray my true face.
There is white noise between who I am and how I look,
the face that’s worn and the face from before I was born.
“But how have I been able to charm some women?
Because I’ve only dated superhero chicks with X-ray vision.
How do I know my true face?