It has been a crazy time with me traveling, returning to Minneapolis to spend only a night more than once before leaving again the following morning.
In other words, an explanation for the scattershot nature of poems this summer.
Laugh Lines and Crazing
Facial creams and time machines
fail me, but in the mirror
my mind takes up the slack,
possesses the knack
of air-brushing contours.
Not until I see a photo of myself
or glimpse my reflection aslant
does an image of a frayed
rag doll ambush me,
like a replay of Dorian Gray.
But no delusion with the devil
exists, only my magic-eraser smile
as antidote.
Marilyn Aschoff Mellor
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