Face Space

Sometimes
he felt like a man with no face,
his face space occupied
by a swirling mist of confusion.
So he had to wait
for it to settle down
to see what emerged,
wait to find his face for that day.
Sometimes
it was exciting,
but only sometimes.
Sometimes
he wished for a blank space
that he could fill himself
with a Magritte apple.
Or maybe a luscious peach
would be self-fulfilling.
Sometimes
he wished he could wear
the same face every day,
wake up with it in place
and know it would stay,
know what he would be
every day.