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Changing Faces

You chose
the wrong tree.
even your genius
did not forsee
that the open structures
of a poplar's wood
releases moisture,
changing dimension and shape
of that enigmatic face
painted onto a shrinking base.
Poor Mona:
she'll have to be submerged,
half drowned,
all because her molecules
have been dragged around,
or alternatively,
like any other celeb,
and she's one of the biggest,
be botoxed into a perma grin.

19 May 04

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ha! why has no-one commented on this yet?? nice one larrylark..
 — unknown

Although there is substance to this poem, some nice imagery that you had an opportunity to let grow into a nice poem. I feel there is no real flow in most places an some words are forced.
 — unknown

Who is Mona? Mona Lisa!
 — Hulda