She opens it to the perforrmance door, <br />Her hair lets crisp the wind, <br />Shadow divides her face, the face <br />She stands there in the open door, <br />She'd greet the gipsy wind, <br />Her wind is the hair, the hair, <br />Colors plaint red-stick scarlet <br />Make-up paints this starlet <br />The Media flush it <br />Clowns have got it, worn on bitter floor <br />Gravity receipts or fake cats <br />Acrobats sieve dog bats <br />Fingerprinted into amulet <br />Guash garnered outlet <br />In the debts of your more <br />Fragile plants on score <br />Shadow parts her face, the face <br />Born again from your rhythm <br />Summertime verve got bidden <br />Gravity receipts, acrobats <br />Plastic dogs or fake cats <br />Relocates in laude <br />Fantastic auditor L. Aude <br />Clowns on bitter floor <br />Twitter autumn <br />Fragile plants on score <br />In the debug of a moor <br />The face, the face<br /><br />Pierre Rausch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-face-20/
