Reflecting on a rare occurrence of being in public...

Faces

I try not to look into the eyes
but the faces can be seen
all the same

Some look down
and away
Some seem lost
or stray

Some seem to be detached
from the skulls they're pasted onto
Some look like the skulls
themselves

Faces looking away
Away from everything
that looks to them
They don't want to be seen
and don't like much of what they do
see

Some faces look around
scanning the rest of the world
Some looking at other faces
or what the other faces seem to see
Looking for meaning
Looking for something
but what it might be
they don't seem to know

Some faces stare
eyes locked in some appearance's cage
Bound to the things before them
trapped outside of sight

Some faces don't seem to look or see at all
they just appear as if they are there
but not even there at all

Some look at me
I don't know what they see
I'm not too sure what I see either
I can't say if I'm less certain than they
Are

All of these faces
Each of them on their own
Some unique, some routine, some unseen...
So many different faces
They are all looking
All being seen

Every face tells a life's story
In a language of its own
No one else can read them
There are some things that can be translated
From the faces
To some facade

I see faces
I make them
What they are
What they're not
What I see
What isn't seen

Faces
Everywhere there's any one

In terms of biology
there are as many faces
as there are asswholes
Although those are not the terms
of our biology

What all these faces see
and all that they cannot
What all my own can see
and all that it cannot

A reflection of my own
provokes reflections of my own

What kind of face is this
What mask from which I speak
What face lies underneath

Faces making faces
On the faces of faces
How many different faces
Than the ones that I see
?