Physiognomies.
Franz Xaver Messerschmidt.
Looks 1
Looks has a meeting,
at the lobby of appearances.
There are many short-listed,
like classical and bombshell.
Good-looks is there,
also cool-looks and smart-looks.
They all want more,
much more than looks.
Admirable, alluring, angelic,
appealing, bewitching, charming,
cute, dazzling, delightful,
divine, exquisite, fascinating,
foxy, gorgeous, graceful,
handsome, ideal, magnificent.
They are all here,
like physical personalities
shaped by their looks
and vice versa.
Others arrive late,
pulchritudinous, winsome,
symmetrical, statuesque, buxom, bonny, taking, comely, personable.
They are all chatting
in their groupies.
Africa’s poverty is mentioned.
The rest
makes the lobby’s audience,
bad-look, despicable,
disagreeable, offensive, repellent,
repulsive, revolting,
ugly, unattractive.
They are all here,
alike and different.
Others break in,
like boycott, defect, strike,
loathsome, obnoxious, obscene,
horrid, rotten, distasteful.
They are all chatting
in their groupies.
Uniqueness was on demand.
The typical,
the old common bourgeois
had a second grade pass.
Some others couldn’t make it,
they are not interested,
have better things to do,
other priorities,
true beauty’s priorities,
perhaps.
Others are black-listed.
It is impossible to notice.
Too many are accepted,
but not all are included.
It is a ‘civilized’ exclusion.
The excluded ones are many.
Beautiful humans that God created:
The physically disfigured and also
the mentally mutated.
Looks 2
I am exposed, naked.
Your eyes reveal me,
as much as they hide me.
Do I need introduction?
I do handshake,
right at the tip of your tongues.
I am looks.
I look like the way you speak.
I am both she and he.
I am it.
You can look at me
from many angles
or no angle at all.
Those angles,
no matter their depths
and right at their depths,
are still me, looks.
You can look at me,
in your skin,
tattooed in your veins,
in your skeleton.
Also outside,
in the things you love,
and also in the things you hate.
In the things you ignore.
In the things you neglect.
They are all inside-out.
I am everywhere you look,
you can look into my eyes,
into my curves,
but also into my mind,
my character, my soul.
I am looks through and through.
I am always eager to deceive you,
to break your mold,
to cease to be for you
so that your depths
can surface on me.
Looks 3
If I am so important,
and in today’s world
I am all that matters,
is not because I am shallow
or lacking of depth.
I am all depths.
I always turn up deep down,
also high up.
I am here,
right at your bottomless search.
Sometimes in pairs,
sometimes in feces,
‘pink feces of diamonds’.
The unfathomable
itches to be looked at,
and yet, it resists seeing.
It utters:
Do not worry,
I am always here to assist you.
You will go pass beyond me,
but you will come back to me,
back to looks,
over and over again.
I will deceive you.
Truth and trust are impossible
when you wants them easy.
They always runs and pass you over.
They stares at your skeleton,
as you see your heart’s tattoos liquified right over your pulverized bones.
Looks 4
Some of you are fussy,
prefer me in certain ways
and not others.
Some chooses my outer layers
others my inners’.
You will have to forge your layers.
I am cloned in multiple ways.
Watch out, I repeat myself a lot.
From ugly I can go straight
into beautiful and back.
Others prefer to hide me,
too confident of sailing away
from the shallows,
choosing my inner layers,
ranting endlessly,
preaching profoundness,
waving a war against looks.
Oh, poor souls.
I am everywhere.
I am your guardian angel.
I visualize your depths.
As a smoky beauty,
I carry the black in the white.
Many of you celebrate me,
and fuck me like a bitch,
A bitch of outer layers
as you remain oblivious
to the bitch of many depths.
My core is always here,
near, to be look at.
Sometimes, I carry obscenity,
other times, please,
Do not turn my page.
Looks 5
Would you like to see my beauty?
All sort of beauty?
Shift your ratios,
do it against your ratio.
Once your discomfort
turns into comfort,
it will turn into passion,
then into obsession
and then into vice.
A new way
to reject ugliness will be born.
Rejection springs out
in passion, in obsession and in vice.
Rejection is born out of love.
A love without discomfort
is a love that is corrupted.
Looks 6
You lack of me
even as you’re hooked on me.
I am looks, I am not vision.
Vision let you see pass me.
Vision is the last step
of the drilling gaze.
You will find me aboriginal,
almost at end.
You can’t just rely on your eyes
to see,
but since I am smart too,
and smart-looks can confirm that,
You might entrust my mind’s look
to reach my soul.
I should warn you,
My soul has no look,
it lacks the appearance of my mind,
it is usually more profound,
right at its surface.
Looks 7
My history is pass beyond all ages.
Long ago my eyes and my mind
weren’t organs,
they were a state of being,
and also a state of becoming.
Today, I am for sale as looks.
As such, I will always be for sale
as many other things,
Right as I am for sale as looks.
You will reconstruct me,
deconstruct me.
I will escape between your fingers,
right as I get intravenous.
