Phrenology

He had a face like the sun slaughtered

by skin. He had a face that

spoke and turned

towards whatever way

the sun was

facing. His face

would take the wheel. The last

time he stopped speaking

his face stayed

after. He never fell

asleep any faster

than his face allowed, still

stuck awake with laser-

beam pressure behind

his face's fore-

head's platter. It doesn't

hurt, this face, he

            answered.

He never had answers.

He stopped only after

years and years and years

                         of going

faster and faster

convinced that this place

had the thing he was after. If

you'd told him then

why not

it wouldn't have
                     mattered.

Here he is after. Older

and sadder, but here

he is after

and after and

                     after.