The Theory of the Beautiful


I wrote this poem last week and revised it this morning:

The Theory of the Beautiful


The spider webs of fine wrinkles

start on the grin lines

like the orb weaver’s designs

wait to catch a gnat

or a mosquito

or at least a wince

or a wink.

I grip the skin

as I look at

sutures on my neck from

excision of a defect

from too much sun

in my youth.

The stock of available reality

goes down.

I’m a prisoner of time.

Hedge something around it,

I tell myself. How about

a hedge of hew

a word that looks like sew

on the page,

But sounds like a color.



eunice_kennedy_shriver_010_1__opt( photo of Eunice Kennedy Shriver, who died at age 88)


<a href=””>Aesthetic</a&gt;
<a href="">Aesthetic</a>



3 thoughts on “The Theory of the Beautiful

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