Conversation Between Two Faces in Negative Space
Poetry
L: Which of us is the real one?
R: Can’t it be both of us?
L: No. There’s no point.
R: What is point but a temporary existence? / Life’s too short to remember that it’s life / a ticking
clock / a carton of milk / does the mayfly fly looking at the ground?
L: Are you death?
R: If I am death, then am I the real one?
L: No. Death doesn’t exist.
R: So you’re the real one?
L: I guess. Only when I’m being touched.
R: So I guess we’re both not real.
L: I’m fine with that. I think being real would hurt.
R: But in a good way.
L: Yes. Like sunlight seared into skin as a testament of love / like walking barefoot on melting
concrete / like bruises from being held too tight.
R: I could hold you.
L: No you couldn’t..
R: ...
L: Which of us will they see first, me or you?